


O'er the Dark-Green Sea

by poisonivory



Category: DCU, DCU - Comicverse, Green Arrow, Green Lantern (Comic)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Navy, Alternate Universe - Pirate, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-07
Updated: 2012-07-07
Packaged: 2017-11-09 09:39:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 47,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/454034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poisonivory/pseuds/poisonivory
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On his first mission as a captain in Her Majesty's Royal Navy, Kyle Rayner finds himself aboard the pirate ship Green Arrow, prisoner of the dreaded Captain Queen. As Captain Gardner, Commodore Jordan, and Kyle's fiancee Jenny launch rescue missions, Kyle finds himself struggling with a growing attraction to Queen's son Connor. But is the Green Arrow really what it seems? What does Sinestro the pirate king want with Kyle? And does Kyle really hold the secret to the green light that can give its bearer the power to rule - or destroy - the world?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The Opium Wars, when China sought to restrict British opium trafficking, occurred in 1839-1842 and 1856-1860. This fic takes place in 1857, during the second Opium War (also known as the Arrow War, which Ollie would like to take credit for). That was considerably later than the glory days of pirates, but hey, there's also magic in this story. I took some liberties. The fic also contains attitudes and terminology that are relics of the time period and thus not politically correct; the views expressed therein are not necessarily my own.
> 
> Written for the 2010 Comics Big Bang. Endless thanks to my lovely betas, allreb, mizzmarvel, and second_batgirl, and to ajremix for her amazing artwork.
> 
> Additional Warnings: Violence, white Anglo-American mid-19th-century attitudes towards race.

Kyle Rayner, newly-made Captain of Her Majesty’s Royal Navy, entered the meeting chamber and closed the door behind him, bowing low to the sole figure in the room. “My Lord Guardian.”

Lord Ganthet sat at the head of the long meeting table, framed in a flare of yellow from the single lamp in the room. “Captain Rayner. Thank you for coming.”

It was an empty thanks, of course. The Lord Guardians controlled the Navy, and no sailor ignored a direct summons from them, even an odd one like this. Kyle approached the head of the table, and, at Lord Ganthet’s nod, took the seat at Lord Ganthet’s right hand. “It was my pleasure, my lord.”

Lord Ganthet was a small man, with wiry, bird-like features, and skin so pale the blue veins showed through around his hollow eyes. He should have been dwarfed by the enormous mahogany table, the high vaulted ceilings of Oan Hall, but like all the Lord Guadians, he commanded a presence greater than himself.

“Captain Rayner, the Lord Guardians have a special assignment for you,” Lord Ganthet said without preamble. “I do not exaggerate when I say that it is a mission which may very well change the fate of the Empire itself.” Kyle’s surprise must have shown on his face, because Lord Ganthet nodded. “Yes, I know that you are young and as yet mostly untried. It is for this very reason that we have chosen you to carry out this mission, for the stakes are such that other parties would certainly interfere if they knew of our plans. And who would suspect the newest, greenest captain in the Navy of being charged with a task of such importance?”

Kyle nodded in acquiescence, feeling a bit disappointed. He had been deeply gratified at receiving a special assignment so early in his career. It was flattering, not to mention it would hopefully dispel charges of favoritism from the naysayers among the officers. But it appeared that all Kyle had to recommend him was obscurity.

The Lord Guardian took a piece of paper from his pocket. “Several ships were lost in the retrieval of this message, and hundreds of lives,” he said. “Our codebreakers have worked on it in secret for months. It is too sensitive to entrust to a standard messenger, or a Hall pigeon. Even I do not know what it says.”

He handed it to Kyle, who turned it over in his hands, fingers tracing the stamp of the Lord Guardians in the heavy wax seal. “You will stay in this room until you have memorized it,” Lord Ganthet said. “You will then throw it in the fire, and not leave until it is completely burned. And you will not speak the words on the paper again until directed to do so by Captain John Stewart, whose station you will set sail for tomorrow. Have I made myself clear?”

“Perfectly, my lord,” Kyle said.

“Excellent.” Lord Ganthet rose, and Kyle rose also, bowing again. The Lord Guardian started for the door, then paused.

“We would not have chosen you for this assignment if we did not faith in you, Captain Rayner,” he said. He did not smile, but he came as near to it as Kyle had ever seen a Lord Guardian do. “Godspeed, my boy.” Nodding his head in a curt gesture of respect, he left the room, closing the door behind him.

Feeling suddenly paranoid, Kyle strode to the door and locked it, leaving the key in to block the keyhole. He checked behind the high-backed chairs and under the table, feeling vaguely silly. Satisfied that no one was observing him, he crossed to the fire, ready to toss the paper in at a moment’s notice, and broke the seal.

It was a strange message – two short lines, incomprehensible to Kyle, with no clear military objective. But his was not to reason why, as Tennyson’s cavalry had said of the war just past. He read the message through several times, until he was certain he had it memorized; then he threw it into the fire.

* * *

Captain Guy Gardner was waiting for Kyle on the broad entry steps of Oan Hall. “Good God, man, you’ve been long enough. So what did the old fossils have to talk to you about?”

“Gardner!” Kyle hissed, glancing around. No Lord Guardians were in sight, but several clerks were, and might have overheard. Considering Gardner’s disdainful – and frequently, loudly expressed – views on desk work and those who did it, there wasn’t one who wouldn’t be delighted to report Gardner’s words to their superiors. “Do you _miss_ the Lord Guardians when you’re not hauled before them once a week? Is that it?”

“No, but you know how they get lonely without me,” Gardner said, grinning. “Come on, we’re late already.”

“Not my fault,” Kyle protested as they hurried down the steps, scanning the streets for a cab. “The admiral knows I was being briefed.”

As they reached the street, they were suddenly jostled by a man coming down the steps behind him, joining two others on the street who were dressed in their Navy blues. Kyle opened his mouth to apologize, then shut it when he recognized them. Alex Nero was no very great friend of his, nor were his companions, Paul Christian and Martin Van Wyck; he hardly thought their collision had been unintentional.

“My dear Nero!” Christian said with a nasty grin. “Were you meeting with our old shipmate Rayner?”

“ _Captain_ Rayner, Christian!” Nero corrected him, with a great show of being scandalized. “Of course not. Our old _amigo_ has more important things to do these days, like private meetings with Lord Guardians. He doesn’t have time for us lowly deckhands.”

Kyle’s jaw tightened. “What did you call me, Nero?”

Nero’s eyes went wide with false innocence. “Are we friends no longer, Captain Rayner? Now that you have ascended to your lofty station? I can use your old nickname, if you’d prefer it.”

Next to Kyle, Gardner flushed hot. “Go ahead, Nero,” he snapped. “Use it. I haven’t been in a fight in nearly three hours. My fists are gettin’ _rusty_.”

“You don’t dare,” Van Wyck said quickly. “A captain striking a lieutenant and two midshipmen? The Lord Guardians’ll have you up for that!”

“And right now they’ll have you three up for insubordination,” Kyle retorted, putting a restraining hand on Gardner’s arm. “Come on, Gardner, we’re late.”

“Let me wipe the smirks off their faces, Rayner,” Gardner said, still glaring at the other three. “What’s another dressing-down by the Lord Guardians to me? You don’t even have to help. I can handle these three lubbers myself.”

“Like hell!” Van Wyck cried.

Kyle rolled his eyes. “I’ve no doubt of that, but I can fight my own battles, Gardner. And these three aren’t worth either of us getting our hands dirty.” He glanced at the street. “Hey, cabbie!”

The cab driver reined in his horse beside them, and Kyle gave Gardner a shove towards the door. Gardner went, but reluctantly. “Take care you don’t run into me when Rayner’s not around to take it easy on you,” he spat as he climbed in. “I’m not nearly so gracious.”

“Captain Rayner is lucky indeed to have such a loyal friend protecting him,” Nero said with mock concern. “The life of a commanding officer is fraught with danger.”

Kyle stopped, one foot inside the cab. “Are you threatening a superior officer, Lieutenant?” he asked.

“I should never be so foolish,” Nero said, and gave a mocking bow. Kyle gritted his teeth and stepped all the way into the cab, closing the door behind him. “Adios, Captain!”

“You should have let me thrash them,” Gardner said once he’d given the cabbie their destination.

“For what purpose?” Kyle asked. “To get you court martialed, or to fully convince them that I am a coward, unable to fight my own battles?”

“Because it would have been _fun_ ,” Gardner retorted, leaning back with a wicked grin. “Honestly, Rayner, it’s like you don’t want me to enjoy myself at _all_.”

Kyle laughed, rolling his eyes. “Stick to fighting the enemies of the crown, Captain. Much safer for us all that way.”

As the cab rumbled through the streets, Kyle sank back into his seat and gazed out the window. He appreciated both Gardner’s loyal scrappiness, and his joking, which Kyle knew had been intended to lighten his spirits, but despite his peaceable façade, Kyle was seething. Nero, Van Wyck, and Christian had had it in for him since he’d joined the service, and his recent promotion had merely sharpened their hatred of him.

He knew perfectly well what the “old nickname” Nero had been referring to was. No one had called him “Paddy” to his face since his promotion, but he knew Nero and his ilk still referred to him that way behind his back. “ _El Capitan_ Paddy,” to use the full title he’d heard whispered since.

It was all very well for Gardner to brawl at the slightest provocation. His father and brother were high enough in the government that Gardner would never be court martialed or publicly disgraced, and Gardner himself was such a brilliant captain that he would never be discharged, not least because it was widely known that his crew would mutiny under any other captain. Insubordinate and impetuous as he was, the worst he would ever receive for any infraction was forced time ashore.

But Kyle’s position was much more tenuous. He might have the support of Gardner, and Commodore Jordan, and even Admiral Scott, but such support wouldn’t do much for a mongrel of no family in the event of a serious infraction. And brawling with inferior officers on the steps of Oan Hall itself would be a very serious infraction.

He hadn’t quite managed to shake his moodiness when the cab pulled up in front of Admiral Scott’s home. Kyle and Gardner quickly sorted out the fare between them and hurried to the house.

The admiral, his family, and his guest were awaiting them in the parlor. Kyle hastened to apologize for their lateness, which Admiral Scott brushed off.

“Think nothing of it, my boy,” he said, waving Kyle and Gardner into chairs. “We’re all very familiar with the way our duty to the Lord Guardians often disarranges our schedules, aren’t we?”

His son Todd gave a low, sardonic snort at this, which everyone pretended not to notice.

The servants brought in the tea service then, and Jenny, Admiral Scott’s daughter, rose. “Shall I pour?” she asked, and her father nodded. Kyle watched, probably less discreetly than he should, as Jenny poured each cup of tea, moving steadily around the circle of their gathering: one lump of sugar for her father, lemon for Commodore Jordan, milk and two sugars for Jenny’s aunt and chaperone Mrs. Hunkel, and neither for Todd and Gardner.

She paused when she reached Kyle. “Three sugars and lemon, Captain Rayner?” she asked, smiling pleasantly, one eyebrow elegantly raised.

He lifted both of his at her. “One sugar and milk, Miss Scott. If you please.” Which she knew very well, of course.

“Of course,” she said, “how silly of me.” She prepared and handed him his cup with exquisite propriety, and he took it with equal care. Next to him, Kyle caught a glimpse of Gardner rolling his eyes.

“So what did the Lord Guardians want with you, Kyle?” Commodore Jordan asked as Jenny poured her own tea and resumed her seat.

Kyle made an apologetic face. “Unfortunately, it’s classified, Commodore. All I can say is that I leave for Chinese waters tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” Jenny repeated, dismayed. “So soon? Haven’t they enough ships in the war?”

Kyle spread his hands helplessly at her. “I really can’t say, Miss Scott. I’m sorry.”

“I wouldn’t worry too much about him,” Jordan assured her. “Kyle is more than capable, and the Chinese…well, let’s say it’s a rather one-sided skirmish.” He looked momentarily uncomfortable, but Gardner broke in before Kyle could press him.

“I’ll say!” Gardner said. “I don’t know why they even bother putting up a fight. Didn’t we trounce them ten years ago? We’ll simply trounce them again. What I want to know is why we’re wasting manpower coddling the Chinese and the rebels in India, making nice with the French, and leaving our best men on shore – ” he indicated himself, and then, after a noticeable pause, Jordan “ – when we could be blasting the lot of them and taking care of these damned pirates besides! Begging your pardon, ladies,” he said, nodding to Mrs. Hunkel and Jenny, who looked more amused than anything. “Did you hear another three merchant ships were lost on the way from Bombay to Hong Kong?”

“And you think it was pirates?” Admiral Scott asked. “I would think it would be the Chinese, trying to stop the opium importation.”

Guy raised an eyebrow. “The _Chinese_ don’t have the fastest ship on the water. The _Chinese_ don’t fly green sails.”

There was a momentarily silence. Then Jordan snorted. “Gardner, surely you’re not falling prey to the superstitions of the men? The _Green Arrow_ is a myth.”

“A myth? I’ve got men on my ship – good, reliable men – who have _seen_ the _Green Arrow_ with their own two eyes!” Gardner exclaimed. “And what of the _Graxos_? No hostile gunships in those waters, no storms reported by anyone else in that vicinity, and still that medicine never reached Dundee. Same with the _Hilven_ and the _Bolovax_.”

“There are flesh and blood pirates on the sea too, Gardner, not merely figments of drunkards’ imaginations,” Jordan pointed out.

“That may be,” Gardner said, “but no sign of the Jolly Roger was seen in those waters, and the Pirate King doesn’t want what those ships were carrying anyway. Medicine? Fruit? No, it’s Captain Queen, trying to cripple the civilians at our outposts, and if we were men we wouldn’t stand for it!”

Jordan half rose. “That will do, Gardner. Don’t think I don’t know who you are implying is to blame…”

“To the devil with _implying_ , I’m _saying_ it,” Gardner said, standing. “You’ve got the Lord Guardians’ ears, Jordan, and you could have half the fleet out after Queen in a week if you weren’t too much of a coward to go after him!”

Jordan was on his feet now too. “Call me that again, Gardner, and I’ll – ”

“ _Gentlemen!_ ” Admiral Scott thundered. Jordan and Gardner both blanched, then turned to look at him. The admiral did not look pleased. “Tea is hardly the time for such discussions, is it? Especially when there are ladies present.”

Jordan bowed graciously to the admiral and to each of the ladies in turn. “You are right. Forgive me, Admiral. Mrs. Hunkel. Miss Scott.” Gardner bowed as well, more perfunctorily, anger still clear on his face.

Kyle exchanged glances with Jenny and Todd, who were clearly struggling not to laugh. A gathering without Jordan and Gardner at each other’s throats would be like a night without cricketsong; pleasantly quiet, perhaps, but strange and a bit eerie.

“Have you heard the rumor of Prince Edward’s engagement? They say it’s to be announced as soon as he returns from America,” Mrs. Hunkel said, clearly attempting to steer the conversation into safer waters. They talked of gossip and matters of court, the latest concerts and novels, for the rest of the meal – Jordan charming, Gardner sullen and quiet. Polite, pointless conversation was not his forte.

Once the tea service had been cleared away, Admiral Scott drew Jordan and Gardner towards the globe by the window to discuss the current state of affairs with China and with India. Todd slunk away with his father’s eye off him, and Kyle, having no interest in listening to another argument, and having more pressing matters on his mind anyway, turned to the ladies.

“It’s a lovely afternoon,” he said. “May I interest you in a turn around the garden? I’m eager to see what you’ve done with it, Miss Scott.”

“I’d be delighted, Captain Rayner,” Jenny said, standing. “Wouldn’t you like a walk, Aunt Abigail? It would be wonderfully refreshing.”

Mrs. Hunkel glanced at the men on the other side of the room. “Do you know, Jenny, I believe you’re right,” she said, rising as well.

Kyle followed the ladies to the garden door and offered each of them his arm. They walked once around, slowly.

“It’s quite lovely, Miss Scott,” Kyle said as they passed by ornate flower arrangements and under vine-covered arches. He meant it. Kyle had studied art in school and would have probably become a painter had his father’s wishes – and his own best prospects – not lain with the Navy. The garden, well cared-for but dull and prosaic since the death of the admiral’s wife, was thriving now that Jenny had taken it over, and she had brought an eye for color and design as well as a green thumb.

Jenny smiled up at him, and Kyle felt his heartbeat quicken. “Thank you, Captain Rayner. That’s very kind.”

“Oh dear, it’s a bit chilly out here, isn’t it?” Mrs. Hunkel said, though the day was warm and the air was still. “I shall just fetch my wrap and rejoin you in a moment, my dears.” She let go of Kyle’s arm and bustled back into the house.

Jenny grinned and took a closer grip on Kyle’s arm. “I suspect she will take her time finding her wrap,” she said.

“Have I mentioned before how much I like Mrs. Hunkel?” Kyle asked.

They continued walking. Jenny sighed and rested her head against Kyle’s shoulder. “I can’t believe you’re leaving tomorrow. Can you at least tell me how long you’ll be gone?”

  
[](http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v237/poisonivory2/chapter1.jpg)  
_Jenny sighed and rested her head against Kyle's shoulder._  


“I don’t know,” Kyle said. “That’s not classified, I genuinely don’t know. I don’t believe I’m supposed to be seeing any combat, if that’s any consolation.”

“I know it’s not to you, but it is to me,” she said. “I wish I could go with you.”

“With me? No, you should be with Jordan or Gardner when the Lord Guardians send them against the Chinese,” Kyle said. “You’d send them packing quick enough.”

Jenny laughed, but Kyle grew serious. He drew Jenny to a bench, where a fountain partially blocked the view of them from the house.

“Jenny,” he said, taking both of her hands in his, one finger tracing out the star-shaped birthmark on her palm. “Jenny, when I return, I…I’d like to speak to your father. About you.”

Jenny’s cheeks turned pink, brightening her green eyes. “You’re not going to tell him I’m the one who overturned the Earl of Doncaster’s carriage when we were little?” she asked mischievously.

“No,” Kyle said, smiling a little, both at the memory and at the fact that she hadn’t thrown a flowerpot at his head. It gave him courage.

“Well, then, I suppose you can speak to him about anything you like,” she said. Her tone was airy, but the blush hadn’t left her cheeks.

Kyle’s heart had moved beyond quickening now, and well into racing. “Then I shall,” he said, and he reached out, tilted Jenny’s chin up, and kissed her.

Jenny, never one to be outdone, kissed him back with cheerful fervor, slipping into the circle of his arms easily. She felt good there, she smelled of flowers in spring, and she was one of Kyle’s dearest and oldest friends. And, after all, it was what was expected, and the admiral was certain to give his consent once Kyle had proven himself on his first command.

They would be happy together, Kyle was sure. He was making the right choice.

“Ahem.”

Kyle and Jenny sprung apart. Todd was standing beside them, looking both annoyed and amused, which was usual for him.

“Father’s looking for you,” he said, one eyebrow lifted archly. “Both of you. Aunt Abigail doesn’t seem to be doing her job.”

Kyle rose, drawing Jenny up with him, her hand in his. “I’m not trying to compromise your sister, Todd. I intend to ask your father – ”

Todd cut him off with a wave of his hand. “Spare me, Kyle. I punched you when you kissed her when we were twelve. It would bore me to do it again.”

Jenny rolled her eyes, taking Kyle’s arm as they walked back towards the house. “It’s so good to know that my brother is protecting my honor.”

Todd scoffed. “I doubt you need me. I’d bet on you in a fight with our little captain, Jen.”

“You’d win that bet,” Kyle said with a grin. Jenny nudged him roughly with her elbow, but she was smiling.

The rest of the afternoon passed pleasantly, and soon Kyle was rattling his way home in a cab, in a much better mood that he’d been in during the previous cab ride. After all, what did he care what men like Alexander Nero thought? Captain Gardner had clapped him on the back until his shoulders fairly stung with it, and promised to drink a toast in his honor every night until he returned. Admiral Scott had assured him that he had every faith in the Lord Guardians’ choice. Jenny had bidden him farewell with heat in her eyes that warmed him nearly as thoroughly as her kisses had.

And Commodore Jordan, as they stood in the street outside of the admiral’s house, had shaken Kyle’s hand, man to man. “I’m sure your father would be proud of you,” he’d said, “but he couldn’t be prouder of you than I am.”

Let Nero and his cronies throw their barbs, Kyle thought as the sinking sun tried and failed to set the London fog ablaze. Let the seas throw at him what they would, be it Chinese or pirates or mythical beasts. Captain Rayner was ready for it all.


	2. Chapter 2

“I do believe Lord Neptune is smiling on us, Terry,” Kyle said, leaning out over the railing of the _Ion_ and filling his lungs with the rich, invigorating smell of the sea. “Those pagan sacrifices you made to him must have worked.”

“If I insist I’ve done no such thing, Captain Rayner, do you think he’ll take away our headwind?” the cabin boy asked, imitating Kyle’s lean.

Kyle laughed. “Best not to risk it,” he said. “We’ll just let the king of the sea thinks what he likes, shall we?”

He turned to survey the deck, unable to banish the smile from his face. Never in his entire career as a sailor – and Kyle had been born with one leg in the rigging and the other in the sky, as his mother liked to say – had he had such a smooth voyage. The winds and waves were all in their favor. The sun had shone cheerfully but not oppressively for weeks, hiding behind rain clouds just until their water supply was replenished, and no longer. Some of the crew clearly resented serving under a Spaniard, one or two of the officers under an Irishman, but no one had challenged him, and Kyle was used to resentment. And Terry clearly idolized him, which was certainly flattering.

“Mr. Banks,” he said as the first mate drew up beside him. “What’s our status?”

Banks saluted. “Supplies are holding, Captain, especially since we passed through that school of fish. The men are all well, and judging by our current speed and our coordinates, we should be arriving at Desolation the day after tomorrow.” He used the name the British had given to the tiny island that was their destination, due to its lack of inhabitants, resources, or strategic advantage. Kyle wasn’t sure why there was an outpost of the Navy stationed there, much less why he was being sent, but it was not his place to question the Lord Guardians.

“That’s a week earlier than we projected, isn’t it?” Kyle asked.

“Six days, sir.”

“Well, I suppose we’ll have to make do with only six days, won’t we?” Kyle said with a smile.

“Yes, sir.”

“I don’t mind telling you fellows, I’m almost bored,” Kyle said, hands clasped behind his back. “I hope every voyage from here on out isn’t as pleasantly dull – ”

“ _Captain!_ ” the lookout screamed from the crow’s nest, pointing. “ _Pirates!_ ”

As Kyle flew to the starboard rail, he couldn’t help the small thrill of excitement that ran through him. Pirates! As a child, he’d begged his mother for every tawdry chapbook on pirates sold in the streets, and stayed up nights reading them, drawing wild depictions of the devils depicted therein on his school slate. They’d been fascinating, far more so than the highly respectable naval officers he was surrounded by, and he’d been sorely disappointed on his first cross-oceanic voyage when he hadn’t encountered them, much less fought them all off single-handedly with a cutlass while hanging from the rigging. As an adult he realized more thoroughly that they were parasites, and not to be envied, but for Kyle the word still carried a whiff of romance.

And besides, on a charmed voyage such as this, what did they have to fear from pirates?

Squinting, one hand shielding his eyes from the glare of the sun, Kyle could make out a small dot on the water. Mr. Banks pressed a spyglass into his hand and Kyle peered through it. Sure enough, it was a ship, smaller than theirs, the Jolly Roger snapping impudently in the wind.

“All hands on deck!” Kyle bellowed.

“All hands on deck!” Mr. Banks roared, his voice echoing through the floorboards. The crew spilled up out of the hold and down from the rigging, awaiting instruction.

“Hold her steady!” Kyle said. “We’ll see how fast she gains before we bring her about for a fight. Best load the cannons, though.”

He glanced at Terry, who looked terrified. “Don’t worry, lad,” he said, patting him on the shoulder. “We’re flying the flag of Her Majesty’s Royal Navy, and we’ve no valuable cargo. There’s no reason for them to attack us, and plenty of reasons for them not to. They’ll probably stay well away as long as we don’t engage them.”

“Why _don’t_ we engage them, sir?” Mr. Banks asked.

“My orders were to get my message to Captain Stewart. I can’t jeopardize that, no matter how much I’d like to teach those blackguards a lesson,” Kyle said. Mr. Banks looked skeptical, and Kyle bit his lip. It was the truth, and he’d much rather be turning to fire on the pirates, but he knew he still looked like a coward.

“Commodore Jordan never ran from a fight,” he heard one of the men mutter behind him.

“Don’t think we’ll be able to anyway.” Mr. Banks was peering through the spyglass again. “They’re gaining fast, Captain. She must be a flyer.”

Kyle didn’t need the spyglass to see that. “Right, then. Prepare to come about!” he ordered. “We only need to bring her 30 degrees to starboard. We’ll have our cannons ready to bear on her while she’s still coming straight at us.”

Mr. Banks took up the call, directing the men to cut the appropriate sails, sending another helmsman up to help at the tiller. Kyle held his position, watching as the pirate ship gained rapidly.

“Do you need me to help you with anything, Captain?” Terry asked.

“Don’t worry about me, Terry,” Kyle said. “You go see what Mr. Banks wants you to do.” Terry saluted and ran off. Kyle hoped Mr. Banks put him somewhere out of the way, so that he didn’t get taken out by flying shrapnel. He was a good boy.

Even a rapid advance on the sea still took some time, and the _Ion_ was fully prepared for the enemy by the time they arrived. Kyle could make out the figurehead now, the legend _Tattoo_ painted on the hull, the grinning Jolly Roger.

“Yellow,” a grizzled seaman muttered beside Kyle.

“What was that?” Kyle asked.

“Beggin’ your pardon, Captain,” the sailor said, saluting. “The Jolly Roger, sir. It’s yellow, not white. That’s the sign of the pirate king.” There was a murmur of unease around him.

“That is _not_ the pirate king’s ship,” Kyle said, annoyed. Half the size of the _Ion_ and with patched sails? Hardly a vessel for a legend.

“Oh, ‘course not, sir,” the sailor said, as if it was obvious. “The pirate king’s ship’s black, with sails of gold, crewed by spirits from Hades. But these are his men, all right.”

“Men or spirits, they’re in range,” Kyle said. “You may fire when ready, Mr. Banks.”

_“FIRE!”_

There was the faint sizzle of fuses lit, and then Kyle’s world erupted into chaos. He’d been in naval battles before, but they always seemed like a confused, feverish dream, and captaining one was no different. The cannons boomed, most missing the mark but two tearing into the mailings and mizzenmast of the _Tattoo_ , but the _Tattoo_ was already coming around – making her an easier target, to be sure, but also bringing her own cannons to bear.

“Down!” Kyle roared as the _Tattoo’s_ cannons fired, dragging the nearest men down onto the deck with him. A cannonball whizzed past him, there was a spray of wood, and then Kyle was on his feet again, climbing towards the quarterdeck, where Mr. Banks was directing the battle.

“Mr. Banks!” he cried as he arrived. “They’re too maneuverable! Don’t try to outsail them, just blast them out of the water!”

“I was coming to that conclusion myself, Captain!” Mr. Banks shouted back, and they both ducked as another fusillade ripped past them. “ _FIRE!_ ” Mr. Banks shouted at the cannonners. “Don’t wait for the next command, just keep firing at them! The rest of you, if your weapon has range, use it! If it doesn’t, get your knives out! They’re starting to board!”

Kyle whirled. Sure enough, grapples were already flying through the air, catching on the railing of the ship. “What are they boarding for?” he demanded. “We’re not carrying any cargo!” He headed back down to the lower deck.

“Captain, no!” Mr. Banks said. “It’s too dangerous!”

“I’ve got a knife too, Mr. Banks!” Kyle called back. “I may as well use it!”

As his boots hit the lower deck, the ship rocked violently, sending him reeling, and began to list. The last cannonballs must have breached the hull below the water line. They were beginning to sink.

Kyle gritted his teeth and made for the railing. It wasn’t over yet. Commodore Jordan had been in far worse than this and survived. Admiral Scott, too. Gardner came home on a raft half the time. They could still win this.

Ducking beneath the bulwark, he unsheathed his knife, then reached over to saw at the rope connecting the nearest grapple to the railing. He could smell gunpowder and blood all around him now, drowning out the smell of the sea, and screams of pain rose above the cannonfire from both ships.

There! The rope broke. Triumphant, he was about to move on to the next one, when a sudden instinct made him look up. The cannon across from him had just been lit. “Down!” he cried, and dove for the nearest sailor, who’d been firing his revolvers across the waves.

The cannonball crashed into the ship. Kyle felt a searing pain as shrapnel tore through his calf, but it was much better than having his skull crushed by a cannon. He tried to sit up, biting back curses, but the fellow he’d pulled down didn’t seem to want to move.

“Hey, you all right there?” he started to ask, then saw the wooden spar protruding from the man’s throat. Forcing back a wave of bile, Kyle rolled the dead man off of him, and recognized him as the sailor who’d talked about the pirate king. _Dammit._

Boots hit the planks beside him, and a chorus of new yells joined the shouts of his men. The pirates had begun to board. Kyle drew his pistol and shot the nearest one, dropping him, then climbed to his feet and fired again. Around him, men were falling – pirates, yes, but mostly his own.

Kyle saw Mr. Banks rallying some of the men at the other end of the ship. “To me!” the first mate shouted; then he suddenly staggered back, as if surprised, and looked down at the crimson blossoming in the middle of his chest.

“No!” Kyle cried as he fell. He trained his pistol on the man who had shot Mr. Banks, but a sudden blow cracked across the back of his head, and the world turned sideways.

“No,” he said again, or tried to; his tongue didn’t seem to want to obey him anymore, nor his hands and feet.

“Take him to Captain Tarrant,” a voice behind him said. Kyle had a vague sensation of being dragged, of a rope being tied around his middle and hands guiding him across a yawning space; then he was dropping to a deck, blessedly solid under his woozy fingers and knees.

“Cut the ropes, you swabs! We’ve got what we came for!” a voice roared, and Kyle winced away from the sound. That wasn’t Mr. Banks. Mr. Banks was… That wasn’t… This wasn’t his ship.

He shook his head to clear it, and pain rippled through it, which sharpened his focus. No. There was the _Ion_ , riding alarmingly low in the water. He’d been taken aboard the _Tattoo_ , and the rest of the pirates were flooding back over the sides, leaving the _Ion_ , whooping, joyful, bloodstained.

“My ship!” he cried, and ran for the railing. Coarse hands grabbed him and pulled him back.

“Not anymore, boyo,” the pirate holding him said, sounding amused. “She belongs to Davy Jones now.”

Kyle struggled, but he was still woozy, though not too woozy to see that the pirate was right. The _Ion_ was sinking, and fast. And the _Tattoo_ was leaving her to her fate; already the distance between the ships was doubled.

“Then I shall go down with her,” Kyle spat, and jerked his head back, cracking it against the skull of his captor. The pirate swore and released him, and Kyle ran for the railing again, but a sword was thrust between his legs and he went sprawling painfully to the deck. Before he could rise, the cool metal of the blade was kissing his throat.

Kyle looked up into the eyes of the filthy, grinning pirate who threatened him. “Go ahead,” he said. “If you’re going to kill me, you may as well do it now. I am not afraid.”

The pirate laughed. By his plumed hat and the general deference of the men around him, Kyle took him to be the captain. He was remarkable for the sheer number of tattoos Kyle could see on any bared skin: the backs of his hands, the exposed triangle of his chest, crawling up his throat and onto his cheeks. “Oh, I’m not going to kill you. Not yet, at least.”

“Then what do you want?” Kyle asked. “You just sank my ship, and anything of value she might have had in the hold.”

“Not everything,” the pirate captain said. “What we want is right in here.” He tapped Kyle’s forehead with his sword.

[](http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v237/poisonivory2/chapter2.jpg)  
_"What we want is right in here."_

Kyle felt his heart sink. Torture, then. “I shall never betray my country, pirate scum,” he spat, lifting his chin.

“We’ll see,” the pirate captain replied. He didn’t look very troubled by Kyle’s defiance. “Let him get one last look at his ship before you toss him in the brig, boys. Oh, and one more thing.” He kicked Kyle in the ribs, hard. Kyle doubled over, gasping, the air knocked out him. “That’s _Captain Tarrant_ to you, Navy scum. Remember it.”

Kyle wheezed as he was hauled to his feet by a couple of nearby pirates. True to their captain’s orders, they pointed him in the direction of the _Ion_. She was well on her way to Davy Jones now, the damaged mainmast creaking and toppling over. Kyle could see a few men desperately looking for something that would float, but the longboats had been shattered by the cannonfire. There was no chance.

A small figure at the railing drew his eye. Terry was standing there, watching as the _Tattoo_ sailed away. Seeing Kyle’s eye on him, he nodded once, then saluted.

Kyle tried to return the salute, but the pirates still had his arms trapped. Heartsick, he kept his eyes on Terry until he was dragged into the darkness of the hold.

He had failed.


	3. Chapter 3

Kyle’s escorts dragged him past the hammocks and the casks and stopped in front of the rusty grate of the brig. One of them held him while the other pulled out a key and opened the padlock; then they threw him in unceremoniously and slammed the door shut with a clang.

“You should have killed me!” Kyle said, scrambling to his feet, throwing himself at the bars. “You shall get no information from me, and I daresay if I get my weapons back I shall make you sorry you took me aboard!”

One of the pirates rolled his eyes. “Bloody hell, I’m sorry already,” he said. His companion laughed horribly, and they turned and left. Clearly they didn’t think Kyle was much of a threat.

Cursing bitterly, Kyle turned to survey his new prison, and stopped short.

He was not alone.

[](http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v237/poisonivory2/chapter3.jpg)  
_He was not alone._

The other man in the brig was about Kyle’s age, or perhaps a little younger. At first Kyle took him for a black, but there was something of the Orient in his features, especially about the eyes, and something of the white man, too. His skin was certainly darker than even the most sun-weathered white sailor, but his hair, cropped close to his skull, was a dark gold, and his eyes startlingly green in the dim and flickering light of the hold. And they were staring at Kyle.

“…Hello,” Kyle said, uncertainly. There was something unsettling about the man’s gaze, something imperturbable and piercing. At least he didn’t seem like a pirate.

“I say, hello?” he repeated when the other man didn’t speak. “My name is Kyle Rayner. You are…?”

Again, no response. Kyle furrowed his brow in confusion before understanding dawned. “I see. Some sort of savage, are you? From some island, I suppose?” He crossed to the side of the brig, and his companion tracked him with his eyes, silent as ever. “And you don’t speak English.”

“Just as well,” Kyle said, sinking to the floor and closing his eyes against the weight of his grief. “I’ve got nothing to say.”

* * *

Jenny sighed, and slowly rotated the globe in her father’s study. Slumped in a chair in a most unladylike fashion, she walked her fingers from England to China, wondering how many days each step represented. How many days until Kyle reached his destination? How many for the return journey? She could ask her father, she supposed, but though he knew the distance to China, even he couldn’t tell her how long it would take for Kyle to carry out his appointed task while there.

“There you are.”

Jenny looked over her shoulder. Todd had just walked into the study. He sat down in the chair on the other side of the globe and scrutinized Jenny.

“Missing your man in blue?” he asked. He knew about the engagement, of course; Jenny had no secrets from Todd. Well, almost none.

“What do you think?” Jenny asked, rocking the globe back and forth on its axis.

“I think that Kyle’s been on sea journeys this long before and you’ve never been so downhearted about it. I mean, you’ve been practically as gloomy as me these past weeks.”

That startled a smile out of Jenny. “I suppose.”

“Is this the new, affianced Jenny?” Todd asked. “Shall you be a melancholy bride, a depressed wife?”

Jenny bit her lip. The truth that even Todd didn’t know was that she wasn’t sure _what_ kind of wife she would be, aside from an uncertain one – uncertain of herself, uncertain of Kyle, uncertain of the very idea of married life. But, after all, a girl _must_ marry, and who better to marry than one’s dearest friend? Especially when one’s father approved so highly of said friend.

“I hope not,” Jenny said, rocking the globe a little harder.

Todd put a hand out and stopped the globe, making her meet his eyes. “Jen. I know you’re worried about him, but he’s a good sailor. He’ll come back to you.”

Something sick and guilty twisted inside of Jenny, but she forced a smile. “Our Captain Rayner?” she asked. “That’s the _last_ thing I’m worried about,” and moving Todd’s hand, she spun the globe until she couldn’t make out the countries at all.

* * *

“…and Dooley had two daughters,” Kyle said, pausing to search for moisture inside his mouth with his tongue, and finding none. “I only spoke to him once, but he told me all about them. You should have seen the way his eyes lit up. He was so _proud_ of them. He was sure they were going to be world-renowned operatic singers. Not if they sounded anything like him, I assure you!”

He laughed, but it sounded hollow and wrong in the brig. He’d been here two days – two days of pacing, of grieving, of thinking up ever more desperate and unlikely plans for escape. And two days of talking to the man he was coming to think of as _his_ savage.

Oh, the fellow didn’t understand a word he said. He hadn’t spoken since Kyle had entered the brig, not even in his own tongue. But he followed Kyle with his eyes – that was, when he wasn’t seated Eastern-style, apparently meditating, for his eyes were closed but he was not asleep – he followed Kyle with his eyes, and there was something in them that Kyle thought could maybe understand. He wanted to _make_ them understand.

Kyle had spent the last two days cataloging everything he knew of the men who had gone down with the _Ion_. It was little enough, sadly, but it was _something_ , and Kyle felt he owed it to them, to make sure they were remembered at least until he was killed under the pirate king’s torture – inevitable, for he would never betray England. Telling their stories, or what little he knew of them, out loud, helped him sort them out, helped him remember. And perhaps his savage…no, Kyle knew the bars of their prison were just as likely to carry on the memory of the _Ion_ as his savage was. But his savage always _looked_ like he was listening.

“I do hope there’s someone to help support the Dooley girls now,” Kyle said, leaning against the grate. “An uncle or someone. At least I know I don’t have to worry about my mother. I’m sure Commodore Jordan will make sure she never wants for anything.”

Was that a flicker of a response in his savage’s face, or just the dim light shifting in the hold? Surely the latter. “Of course, she hardly needs it,” Kyle mused, smiling to himself. “After all, she raised me on her own all those years, and I can’t have been an easy child. Maura Rayner is many things, but helpless she is not.” He looked over. “You see, my father was a sailor, and he was killed in a naval battle fifteen years ago, when I was still very small. Commodore Jordan – he was just Captain Jordan then, of course – was in command, and my father pushed him out of the way of the foremast, which was coming down. Commodore Jordan has looked out for me and my mother ever since. Like a father, almost – no, not really like a father. More like a sort of benevolent uncle who doesn’t understand children. He was always _kind_ without ever really being _warm_.”

Kyle blinked, realizing what he’d just said. “Oh, I don’t mean to sound ungrateful,” he said hastily, as if his parents and Commodore Jordan would all suddenly appear before him, frowning down disapprovingly. “Commodore Jordan has always been a true friend. Were it not for him I should never have become an officer. I like to imagine I should have done well even without his patronage, but, well…” He frowned. “I am not one to speak ill of the Navy, never, but…there are those who believe that one’s parentage is the sum total of one’s character and qualifications.”

Kyle saw, or thought he saw, puzzlement in his savage’s brilliant green eyes. “My mother came from Dublin, my father from Madrid,” he explained. “I am not sure whether having an Irishwoman for a mother or a Spaniard for a father is a greater crime in some of my fellow servicemen’s eyes.” He voice grew bitter, and he stared at the deck before him, warped and salt-stained. “My father was a hero and a good man who loved his wife and son, who loved his adopted country enough to die for it. My mother is the bravest, strongest, most remarkable woman it has ever been my fortune to encounter. But I am called ‘paddy’ and ‘mongrel’ and expected to drink myself into a stupor and ill-use my women, as if there were none in the service as English as Buckingham Palace who drink and cheat.”

Kyle stared at his hands, no darker or coarser than Commodore Jordan’s, or high-born, insubordinate Gardner’s, or Admiral Scott’s or Todd’s. “Even some who came up through the service with me and have known me since we were boys cannot see past where my family is from. I have known Alexander Nero since we were eight years old, and he cannot understand why he was passed over for promotion and I was made captain, when his family has been in London for nine generations. It is of no matter that I work hard. No matter that I have brains, that I have courage, that I have skill – or I thought I did, before this failure. I shall always be El Capitan Paddy to him and his like.”

Kyle glanced up. His savage’s eyes were on him, and there was something strange in them, something that Kyle couldn’t name but that made him feel sure, somehow, despite language barriers and Kyle’s own incoherent rambling, that his savage _did_ understand.

A cannon fired.

Kyle and his savage both turned their heads towards the sound, but it was immediately drowned out by chaos above – screams, running feet, shouted cries. Kyle couldn’t make out what they were saying, but every voice he heard sounded desperately panicked.

He listened, heart pounding at the sounds from above. It sounded like another ship was approaching – it _must_ be another ship, for there was the sound of cannonfire again, the feel of the _Tattoo_ veering wildly as the pirates tried desperately to escape. The Navy, perhaps! Kyle felt his heart life slightly at the thought. It was unlikely; there was no one near these coordinates, to the best of his knowledge – at least, if they were still anywhere near his original destination, which they very well might not be. Still, who else would be attacking a pirate ship? Even if it was another country’s navy, even if it was an enemy, he would rather be taken as a prisoner of war or even shot than tortured indefinitely by the pirate king.

The _Tattoo’s_ cannons fired, and the other ship answered, closer and louder this time. Screams from above. Kyle stared at the ceiling, as if his gaze could somehow pierce the deck above and tell him what was happening.

 _Boom! Crash!_ A cannon ripped through the hull near the bow of the ship. Kyle jumped back, though it was nowhere near the brig. Forget being rescued by another country’s navy; they would most likely be killed by cannonfire in the next five minutes. Ah, well, it was still better than torture. He was just sending up a prayer that it would be quick when a sudden jerk made him stumble. The grappling hooks must have caught.

Kyle’s savage suddenly rose to his feet, as graceful as if he were in an Elysian meadow or a royal palace and not a violently rocking ship, and produced a thin strip of metal from inside his boot. As Kyle stared, his savage crossed to the door of the brig, reached through the bars, and used the strip to pick the lock.

He opened the door, stepped out, then turned back to look at Kyle. “Well?” he asked, in American-accented and faintly lilting but perfectly good English. “Aren’t you coming?”

Kyle gaped, then flung himself after his savage, who was clearly nothing of the kind. Speechless, utterly baffled, he followed his strange cellmate up out of the hold and into the middle of Kyle’s second naval battle of the week.

It was utter chaos on deck, the pirates of the _Tattoo_ clearly as unprepared for and ill-equipped to deal with their new enemy as the _Ion’s_ men had been for the _Tattoo_. No one spared Kyle and his companion a second glance as they crossed to the port side of the _Tattoo_ , where the other ship was firing upon them. Kyle’s former savage sprang up onto the railing like he was born to it and seized a trailing rope, then looked at Kyle.

“Right, of course, what else did I have to do?” Kyle muttered, and grabbed a neighboring rope, then jumped up onto the railing as well, windmilling his free arm a bit to keep from falling into the sea.

His companion nodded, then pushed off and swung onto the next ship. Not sure whether he was going from the frying pan into the fire, only certain that the ship he was currently standing on would soon be beneath the waves, Kyle followed.

He hit the boards beside a bearded man who was screaming across the gap at the _Tattoo_. “…and you can tell Davy Jones I sent you to him, Abel Tarrant, you scum-sucking bottom-feeding brainless son of a barnacle! Don’t worry, you won’t be lonely down there, fishbait. I’ll be sending your master down to you, too, that pompous, gut-rotten devil of a phony king!”

Kyle’s cellmate joined the bearded man at the railing. “I think you’ve made your point, Captain.”

“Not a bit of it!” the bearded man said. He, at least, was English. “I’ve at least two dozen more insults planned.” He paused in his tirade to look at Kyle’s cellmate, concerned appraisal warring with relief. “You all right?”

“A little hungry, but otherwise fine,” Kyle’s cellmate assured him. “I’m glad you saw my sign.”

“Roy spotted it after we found the spot where they grabbed you. Lucky there aren’t two ships in Old Lobsterface’s fleet that start with a T.”

A redheaded young man, about Kyle’s age or maybe a bit older, joined them. “They’re sinking for sure now, Captain,” he said. Another American. “Do you want to stick around and gloat?”

The captain turned a plaintive look on Kyle’s cellmate, who shook his head disapprovingly. “They’re not worth it,” he said firmly, and the captain sighed.

“Oh, all right,” he said. “Push off!”

The redhead nodded, then suddenly grabbed Kyle’s cellmate and pulled him into a brotherly embrace. “Good to have you back,” he said, thumping Kyle’s cellmate on the shoulders.

“Good to _be_ back,” Kyle’s cellmate replied. The redhead let him go and trotted off towards the tiller, barking out orders to cease fire and head east.

Kyle’s companion and the captain remained at the rail, the latter still looking concerned. “You didn’t get hit in the fight? I told them not to fire near the brig…”

“You were nowhere near us,” Kyle’s companion assured him.

“‘Us’?” the captain repeated, and suddenly seemed to notice Kyle. He looked perplexed at first, then took in Kyle’s blue uniform, and his face darkened.

“Connor Hawke, you soft-hearted, soft-headed nincompoop, _tell_ me you didn’t bring one of Her Majesty’s lackeys onto my ship,” he said.

“I had to!” Kyle’s companion – Connor? – protested. “ _He’s_ not a pirate. _He_ didn’t kidnap me.”

“He can still go running to the Lord Guardians telling tales we don’t want told!” the captain shot back.

Kyle decided it was time to put in a few words for himself. “Sir, I assure you, the Lord Guardians will not take offense at a little unlicensed killing of pirates. Rather, they will be as grateful as I am for the eradication of a pestilence, as well as my own salvation.” He bowed in thanks. “If you could just put me ashore at the most convenient outpost of Her Majesty’s Navy, I could…”

The captain snorted. “A naval outpost? The Lord Guardians grateful to me? Keep dreaming, boy. The Lord Guardians would be grateful only if I hanged myself and saved them the cost of a rope. Which is what sailing into Bombay or Dundee or the like would amount to.”

Connor broke in. “We could put him ashore at…” The captain gave him a warning look. “…at wherever we plan on docking next. We can swear him to secrecy.”

“And how do we know his word is good?” the captain asked. “They give those uniforms out for discipline and killing people, Connor, not fair play.”

“I think we can trust him, Dad,” Connor said quietly.

“‘Dad’?” Kyle couldn’t help repeating incredulously, even as he felt strangely warmed by Connor’s faith in him. But he saw the family resemblance now, as he looked for it, though the captain was white, and Connor was…whatever he was. They had the same fair hair, the same cheekbones, the same piercing green eyes, though the captain’s lacked Connor’s expression of quiet understanding.

Father and son glanced at Kyle, then ignored him. “And on what do you base this boundless trust?” the captain demanded of Connor. “Your many years of long friendship? Your voluminous correspondence?”

“Sir, my word is my bond,” Kyle broke in again. “I owe you my life. If you wish to remain a secret, I shall not speak of my time on this ship with any soul on Earth.”

“ _This_ ship?” The captain snorted, looking up. “I doubt it.”

Kyle followed his gaze up…and stood stock-still, mouth open. He hadn’t noticed in the madness of the battle, but the ship flew no flag. More importantly, every single sail, from the broad mainsail to the smallest jibs, was dyed a brilliant emerald green.

No wonder the pirates had been panicked. Tarrant was merely a mangy jackal, fleeing the fury of a lion.

Kyle had been rescued by the _Green Arrow_.

“Welcome aboard,” said Captain Oliver Queen, tipping his hat sardonically. “Now, how would you like me to kill you?”

* * *

A small, bedraggled figure washed up on the shore of a tiny island east of British North Borneo. He had lashed himself to a spar of wood barely his size to keep himself from falling off while he slept. It seemed incredible that it had managed to bear him through two days and two nights of being lost at sea, but it had, and he was now lying curled against it in the wet sand, the waves beating against his back.

It took him some time to realize he had reached land, and when he did, longer still to force his arms to unlock from the spar, and push it through the loop of the rope, the knot too sodden and swollen to undo. Leaving the spar on the beach reluctantly, for it had saved his life, he crawled – he had no strength to walk – away from the shore, towards what he desperately hoped was civilization, or at least fresh water.

“Halt! Who goes – what the devil?” a voice asked. The castaway squinted up through the too-bright sunlight to see a British sailor squinting down at him. The dark blue uniform was so blessedly familiar he almost wept. “I say, old boy, are you all right? Who are you?”

The castaway tried to speak but merely croaked, and the sailor quickly removed the canteen at his hip and handed it to the castaway, who drank greedily.

“Easy does it, lad, you’ll make yourself sick,” the sailor cautioned. He helped the castaway into a kneeling position. “Now then. Where have you come from?”

Terry shook his head and wiped a shaking hand across his brow. “That’s not important,” he said. “I need to see Captain Stewart right away. There’s been a kidnapping.”


	4. Chapter 4

Terry was forced to eat, drink, bathe, and change before he was taken to the island proper to see Captain Stewart. He chafed at the delay, but he felt much more lucid when he was actually ushered into the man’s office.

Captain Stewart rose to greet him when he entered, and Terry blinked in surprise. The captain was black. Terry distantly recalled hearing a rumor of a black captain out somewhere in the Pacific, but he’d always assumed it was just that, a rumor. He was sure Captain Stewart was qualified – the Lord Guardians did not make mistakes, after all – but having heard the way some of the men spoke of Captain Rayner, Terry could only imagine how difficult a time of it Captain Stewart had had.

“Mr. Berg, is it?” Captain Stewart asked.

“Yes, sir.”

“Please, sit. You must be exhausted. It won’t do to have you fainting on the rug.” Captain Stewart ushered Terry into a chair. “I hear your ship was attacked by pirates. They say you were the sole survivor?”

“No, sir. At least, I hope not, sir. They took my captain prisoner.”

Captain Stewart blinked in surprised. “Prisoner? Pirates have no need to take prisoners. Even if you were transporting something of value, they would simply have taken it from you.”

“I don’t know why they did it, sir, but I saw them take him,” Terry said. “I don’t know what our mission was. We had no military objective and no cargo. But we were coming here. Captain Rayner said something about speaking with you, something about some information from the Lord Guardians; that’s why I asked for you when I arrived, sir.”

Captain Stewart’s eyes widened. “Information from the Lord Guardians?”

“Do you know what it would have been, sir?” Terry asked daringly, though from Captain Stewart’s expression, he had a feeling he already knew the answer.

Captain Stewart nodded. “I shall have to send a message to the Lord Guardians. I wonder if somehow his mission was found out, if he was taken by someone who…” He trailed off, staring out the window of his office towards the sea. After a moment he shook himself, as if coming out of a dream, and crossed to his desk. “Did you catch the name of the ship that took him?” he asked, writing rapidly in naval cipher on a Hall form.

“The _Tattoo_ , sir,” Terry said promptly. “She was flying the yellow Jolly Roger. But that night, while I was drifting…” He paused.

Captain Stewart looked up from his form. “Yes?”

Terry swallowed. “Maybe you’ll say I was delirious, sir, but I am sure I saw a ship with green sails, heading southeast, after the _Tattoo_.”

Captain Stewart frowned. “The _Green Arrow_?” he said, more to himself than to Terry. “If Queen’s involving himself in this…well, I’d best let the Lord Guardians know he was spotted in the area. If you _did_ hallucinate him – and a man sees many a strange thing under less severe circumstances than you survived, lad – we’ll be none the worse.”

He finished his form, sealed it, and rang the bell for a clerk, who came in and fetched it. The clerk would bring it to the aviary, Terry knew, where it would be fastened to the leg of a Hall pigeon, those miracle birds that could cross the sea in mere days. It would most likely be passed on to a fresh bird in North Africa, but it would be at Oan Hall before the week was out.

“Will they send reinforcements, sir?” he asked.

Captain Stewart looked puzzled. “Reinforcements?”

“To rescue Captain Rayner, sir.”

Terry’s heart sank as Captain Stewart assumed that expression of sympathy which never boded well from any adult. “I’m sorry, lad,” he said, “but there’s no way to know where the _Tattoo_ or the _Green Arrow_ may have taken Rayner, and we can’t afford to lose ships and men searching the oceans for him. The Lord Guardians will send another ship with Rayner’s information, but Rayner, I fear, is lost.”

* * *

“Dad!” Connor cried indignantly. “You can’t kill him! You just _saved_ him!”

“No, _you_ saved him, and you shouldn’t have,” Queen replied. Kyle took a step back, eyeing the distance between himself and Queen’s pistols, Queen’s sword, the longboat held snug against the hull of the ship…

“Isn’t that what we do? Help the innocent?”

“Not the _Navy_!”

He’d never make it to the longboat before getting a bullet in the back. He needed a gun. No one else was close, and Connor wasn’t armed, so…

“So you’re just going to shoot him in cold blood?” Connor demanded. “Just for having the temerity to wear a blue jacket?”

Kyle lunged suddenly for Queen’s holster. His fingers actually brushed the butt of the gun before Connor’s foot snapped out and kicked him in the head. Kyle reeled, landing on his rear, and looked up to see Queen pointing the revolver at him.

“Is it cold blood now?” Queen asked his son.

Connor rolled his eyes. “Yes. He’s just _sitting_ there.”

[](http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v237/poisonivory2/chapter4.jpg)  
_“He’s just_ sitting _there.”_

“Oh, just get it over with,” Kyle said. “I hardly think the captain of the _Green Arrow_ would stick at one more murder.” Both Queen and Connor flinched at the word, and Kyle pressed his advantage. “What, do you not like being called what you are?” he demanded, though he was looking at Queen as he said it; somehow he couldn’t bring himself to call the man pleading for his life a murderer to his face. “Or is there some other reason the ships that sight the green sails never come home? Enemy navies have their orders, and even pirates are after riches. But you go after ships with no cargo and you sail under no nation’s flag. You’re merely a monster.”

“You don’t understand – ” Connor started to say.

“ _Connor_.” Queen’s voice was sharp. “Let him think what he wants. We’ve no obligation to him.”

The redheaded man, who Kyle assumed was the first mate, returned then, with a cheerful expression that seemed out of place in the midst of such a conversation. “Are we back on our original course then, Captain?” he asked, then spotted Kyle. “What’s this? Did you make a friend on your little trip, Connor?” He blinked, taking in the uniform. “A… _Navy_ friend?”

“He was a prisoner on the _Tattoo_ , and he’s now a prisoner on the _Green Arrow_ ,” Queen said gruffly. “At least, until I decide what to do with him.”

“We don’t have a brig,” the mate pointed out.

“Well, _watch_ him, then!” Queen snapped. “You’re armed and you’ve three inches on him. I don’t think we need worry about a one-man mutiny from Admiral Nelson here.”

The mate eyed Kyle. “Can’t Connor watch him?”

“I need to speak with Connor. Alone.” Queen’s tone brooked no argument, and the mate sighed.

“All right. Come on, Admiral.” He walked towards the stern, and Kyle scrambled to his feet and followed, with one glance back at Connor, who seemed ready to continue arguing with Queen. Kyle supposed when the captain was one’s father, one could defy him with impunity.

“I’m guessing your name isn’t really Nelson,” the mate said as he began to ascend the ladder to the quarterdeck. He wasn’t looking around to make sure that Kyle was following him, and Kyle once again contemplated grabbing a pistol from one of his captors and making a break for it. But the ship was crewed by men who were surely loyal to Queen – hell, maybe they were _all_ his sons – and they were all armed. Perhaps the mate wasn’t bothering to watch his back because he could move with the same inhuman speed Connor could; Kyle could still feel the ache from that kick.

“Uh, Rayner,” Kyle said, following the mate up the ladder. “Kyle Rayner. _Captain_ Kyle Rayner.”

Roy reached the quarterdeck and turned to face Kyle, eyes dancing with amusement. “I am familiar with the regalia of Her Majesty’s Navy, Captain Rayner. First Mate Royal Harper, at your service.” He bowed low. It was mocking, but Kyle didn’t think it was mean-spirited.

“‘Royal’?” Kyle asked.

Harper shrugged. “Americans. We have no real royalty, so we invent our own.”

“Not _all_ Americans,” said the mustached man who was leaning indolently against the tiller and smoking a cigar. “Washington’s bad enough without adding a crowned tyrant to the mix.” He jerked his head at Kyle. “Who’s the bluecoat?”

“This is our new prisoner!” Harper said, as if presenting a prizewinning horse, or a newborn baby – with a combination of excitement and pride. “His name’s Rayner. _Captain_ Rayner,” he corrected himself, with an amused glance at Kyle. “This is our navigator, Mr. Fyers.”

“Uh…how do you do?” Kyle said.

Fyers nodded disinterestedly. “Captain say where we’re headed?” he asked Harper.

“Not officially, but I think we’re staying the course,” Harper replied.

“Are we eating anytime soon?” Fyers asked, then blew out a perfect smoke ring.

“We should be,” Harper said. “Care to check the galley with me, Rayner?”

Kyle raised his eyebrows. “I don’t suppose I have a choice,” he said.

“Not particularly.” Harper headed back down the ladder. “Don’t drop that cigar stub on the deck, Mr. Fyers!” he called back.

“Yes, Mother.”

They entered the hold and headed for the galley. It was so small, and the cook was so busy, that Harper told Kyle to wait outside while he discussed supper. Again, Kyle marveled at their trust – he could simply take off his jacket and walk off, and probably wouldn’t be stopped until he got to the longboat.

But how would he get it away from the ship before the alarm was raised and he was shot? And even if he did manage to escape the reach of the _Green Arrow_ , where would he go? He’d lost his bearings completely in the brig of the _Tattoo_ , and had no idea where he was.

A cabin boy trotted past, arms loaded down with thick coils of rope, and Kyle hailed him. “I say! You boy!”

The boy looked up with a laugh, and Kyle blinked in surprise, for it was a girl. A pretty one, flaxen-haired and perhaps fourteen or fifteen. Kyle stared at her, and she grinned impudently back at him, enjoying his surprise, until finally taking pity on him. “Did you need something, sir?”

“I…you’re a girl,” Kyle said.

“Right in one, sir,” the girl said, looking as though she wanted to laugh. She had a broad cockney accent and could have been any of the girls Kyle saw selling flowers or working in some of the lesser shops and taverns in the City.

But she was wearing breeches, and carrying ropes, and was very clearly a cabin boy. Cabin girl. Kyle shook his head. Whatever her official title, her gender was not nearly as important as the information she could give him. He patted his pockets, wishing he had some change to give her, but the pirates on the _Tattoo_ had taken care of that very quickly.

“Listen, um…miss,” Kyle said in a low voice, leaning towards her conspiratorially. “Can you tell me where we are?”

She raised her eyebrows. “Outside the galley, sir.”

“No, I mean our coordinates, where the _ship_ is,” he said. “Quickly, now!”

The door behind him opened, and the cabin girl’s eyes darted past him to fix on Harper’s. Kyle turned in time to see Harper shake his head.

“Sorry, sir,” the cabin girl said apologetically. She gave him a quick bow and scampered off.

Kyle shrugged at Harper. “You can’t blame me for trying,” he said.

The rest of the day passed much the same way, with Kyle followed Harper around on his duties, even assisting when another pair of hands was needed. He was presented to everyone as “the prisoner,” which Harper clearly found hilarious; Kyle was irritated by it at first, but eventually became inured to his new title. It was better than “Admiral Nelson.”

The crew was a motley assortment, not just Americans and Englishmen (and one Englishwoman), but Africans and Orientals and Europeans from the Continent, but they all deferred cheerfully to Harper, who ran the ship with a sort of noisy friendliness very different from the strict discipline Kyle was used to. Kyle wasn’t sure how anything got done on the _Green Arrow_ , but it must, or the ship wouldn’t have the reputation it did.

It was not until the sun had set over the port rails that Kyle spoke with the captain again – or rather, was spoken _to_.

“I have not yet decided what is to be done with you,” Queen said, arms folded across his chest. “Connor thinks we can trust you, but I don’t. Prove me wrong, and we may simply put you ashore at our next port. Prove me right, and you’ll _wish_ I’d shot you this afternoon. In the meantime,” he said, turning to his son, “since _you_ rescued the Admiral here, and since _you_ argued to keep him alive, he’s your responsibility. Roy can’t look after him every day. Keep him out of trouble, and don’t – ”

“I think I can handle a one-man mutiny too, Dad,” Connor said gently. Kyle bristled a little. He resented being considered so easy to “handle.” “Thank you.”

“I’m not doing you a _favor_ ,” Queen said, glowering. “I just don’t…”

“I know,” Connor said. “Thank you.”

Queen looked as if he wanted to say something else, but he merely snorted and walked away. Connor turned to Kyle. “Come on, I’ll show you your hammock,” he said.

Kyle followed Connor into the hold, past the galley and the water casks and to the sleeping chamber, where dozens of hammocks were strung from the beams. Kyle had a bed as a captain, but he’d slept in hammocks for years before that. This was no hardship.

“Thank you for saving my life,” he said to Connor, smiling at him. “Twice, now. If there’s anything I can do…”

Connor cut him off, his eyes hard in the light of the lantern he held. “Do not mistake me, Captain Rayner. I do not believe in leaving an innocent man to die, or shooting him in cold blood, no matter what his allegiance may be. But if I think you are a danger to this ship or anyone on it, believe me when I say that I will kill you myself.”

Kyle swallowed. “I would…expect no less,” he said finally.

“Good.” Connor hung the lantern on a nearby hook and held up two short coils of rope. “Remove your boots and coat, if you do not wish to sleep in them. I’m tying you to your bunk.”

Again, Kyle was surprised, though he really shouldn’t have been. Silently, he shrugged out of his coat, yanked off his boots, and climbed into his hammock, pulling the coat over him as a makeshift blanket. There was a moment of awkward confusion as they both tried to figure out where Kyle should put his hands, but just above his head was really the only place that wouldn’t leave Kyle falling on his face if the hammock tipped over.

For some reason, Kyle was very aware of his own breathing as he held his hands in place for Connor; it was loud, and, he thought, uneven. He tried to steady it as Connor worked in silence, callused hands moving swiftly, eyes unreadable behind pale lashes.

“There.” Connor stepped back, and Kyle tested his bonds. They were not painful, but they were tight, and the knots were expertly tied. He could not get loose on his own.

“…Well then,” Connor said, after a long pause. “Good night.”

“Good night,” Kyle said, but his voice was drowned out by the sound of footsteps on the stairs into the hold, and loud voices calling to each other. The crew was coming down for the night.

Connor took his lantern back and crossed to the next hammock, kicking off his own boots and storing them beneath it. Kyle realized that Connor had situated him next to his own bunk, so as to keep an eye on him. He flushed and looked away as Connor glanced at him.

The other men jostled each other as they passed, some of them giving Kyle amused looks which he ignored as best he could. He watched as Fyers cleaned his glasses and placed them carefully in a case, as Harper checked that the casks were secure, as the cabin girl, who he thought he’d heard called “Mia” before, retired to her own curtained alcove somewhat apart from the men.

One by one the lamps were blown out, and they were left in darkness. Kyle soon found that lying with one’s arm’s tied above one’s head was very uncomfortable. His nose itched, his shoulders were growing stiff, and his unconscious tugging at his bonds as he tried to adjust his position was rubbing his wrists raw. He tried not to sigh too audibly, and glanced to the side, where Connor’s hammock was – but it was too dark to see anything, and soon the darkness of the hold was replaced by the darkness of Kyle’s closed eyes, and he slept.


	5. Chapter 5

In a rocky chain of islands somewhere in the Pacific lay one larger than its fellows, shaped like a crescent moon. Its high, foreboding cliffs and the fierce winds and currents constantly beating against the island chain made making port at it a formidable task, and many a ship had been smashed to matchsticks against it. But for those who knew when and how to approach it, the sheltered harbor of the inside curve of the moon made for a safe mooring place. Safe for ships, at least, if not necessarily for the men who came to pay their allegiance there.

A rough hall had been built into the mountain at the center of the crescent. It was ancient; no man knew how many centuries it had stood there. It had lain empty for countless decades, but it had been repurposed some years back and reinvigorated with a gaudy, barbaric glory.

All of this history meant little to the man currently standing before the throne in the banquet hall, shaking.

“Your Majesty…Captain Sinestro, sir…the _Tattoo_ has been scuttled.”

The man in the throne started. He was tall and excessively lean, with dark eyes and a high forehead, his skin a peculiar reddish hue. Some said he was simply burned from the sun; others said he had been badly burned in a fire. Most of his men whispered that it was the flames of Hell itself that had turned his skin to scarlet.

“Tarrant?” he asked.

“Dead, sir,” the hapless sailor below him said. “I had it from a mate on a passing merchant ship, who saw it all through a spyglass. The _Tattoo_ was scuttled, and all hands aboard lost.”

Sinestro’s jaw tightened. “By whom?” he asked, and the sailor instinctively took a step back at the hard edge in Sinestro’s voice.

“The…” He swallowed. “The _Green Arrow_ , Your Majesty.”

Sinestro sat very quietly for a long moment, a twitching muscle in his jaw the only sign of movement. Suddenly he seized a long knife from his belt, and with a yell of rage, hurled it at the terrified messenger. It sank to the hilt in the man’s chest, and he gave it one startled look before dropping to the floor, dead.

“God curse him!” Sinestro roared. “How long will this blasted fool plague me?” He overturned the nearest table, sending food and drink crashing everywhere. “He sinks my ships. He steals my property. He is making facing the pirate king only the _second_ biggest fear on the sea, and _you_!” He whirled on the assembled pirates. “ _You_ let him! You flee from him, you surrender to him, you give him better allegiance than you do your own king!”

Cringing and silence from his men. Sinestro spat contemptuously on the floor.

“Hawke is a lost cause now. Queen will watch him closely now, I can assure you.” He kicked at the corpse on the floor. “And what of Rayner? Did this cretin tell anyone if he went down with the _Tattoo_?”

One of the dead sailor’s crewmates spoke up, trembling. “He said two men went from the _Tattoo_ to the _Green Arrow_. I don’t know who.”

“Then Rayner’s information isn’t at the bottom of the sea.” To everyone’s surprise, Sinestro smiled. It was a chilling expression. “I hope you’ve made your peace with God, Oliver Queen,” Sinestro said. “I’m coming for you.”

* * *

Kyle woke stiff and sore, which he supposed was to be expected after sleeping with his arms tied above his head all night. Not that he had slept particularly well; he had tossed and turned as best he could while bound, mind running wildly over the potential fates that might await him in the morning. Would Queen decide he was too dangerous to be kept aboard? Would Connor’s more lenient view prevail? _Was_ Connor’s view more lenient? After his threat, Kyle wasn’t sure. Where would Harper stand? He seemed friendly enough, but Connor had already shown that the kindness on this ship could turn to steel in an instant.

Around him the men were stirring, but when Kyle turned his head to the side Connor’s hammock was empty. Kyle stared at it, puzzled; then footsteps made him turn his head, and he saw Connor coming down the stairs into the hold.

“Good, you’re awake,” Connor said, and started to untie Kyle’s wrists. “You don’t have to be awoken by…”

 _Clang! Clang! Clang!_ “Rise and shine, ladies!” Harper strode out of the galley, clashing a metal ladle against a pot and roaring at the top of his voice. “Come on, come on, no more beauty sleep! Out of bed!” The men groaned and bestirred themselves, rubbing their eyes and stretching. Behind Mia’s curtain there was the unmistakable thump of someone rolling out of a hammock, following by a string of curses.

Connor gave an affectionate wince, and moved to Kyle’s other hand.

“Does he do that every morning?” Kyle asked.

Connor nodded. “Luckily I’m usually abovedecks when it happens.”

“Why are you…” Kyle started to ask, then stopped himself. He did not need to learn the routines of this ship. He did not need to make friends.

Connor finished untying Kyle and Kyle climbed out of his hammock, rubbing his wrists gingerly. If Connor was sympathetic, he didn’t show it. “Get your boots on,” he said. “If we don’t hurry to breakfast there’ll be none left.”

Breakfast was as noisy and boisterous as supper had been. Though the men still addressed Kyle as “prisoner” and “Admiral Nelson” – Queen’s mocking sobriquet had spread, it appeared – their roughhousing and teasing had no sting of cruelty to it, and they rubbed elbows with him as cheerfully as they did each other. No one on the _Green Arrow_ cared where his parents were from, that much was clear.

They _should_ care that he was, technically, their enemy, but no one but Queen and Connor seemed the slightest bit concerned. Kyle was still uncertain as to whether they were all woefully naïve, or so deadly to a man that he didn’t even register as a threat to them. He couldn’t forget Connor’s kick, which had seemed to come out of nowhere; could they _all_ do that?

The captain took his meals in his stateroom, so it wasn’t until Connor led Kyle up on deck that he saw Queen again. Queen promptly handed him a bucket and a rag. “Swab the deck,” he said.

This was too much. Kyle drew himself up. “Sir, I may be your prisoner, but I am a captain in Her Majesty’s Royal Navy, and I would like to be shown the respect due to me as such, as dictated by the Articles of War…”

Queen cut him off with a snort. “I have no use for the Articles of War, boy, _or_ for Her Majesty. As for you, I haven’t yet decided whether it wouldn’t be better for me to put a bullet in your brain or simply toss you off the side for the sharks. The more difficult you decide to be, the better the sharks are going to look. _Swab_ the _deck_.”

He thrust the bucket at Kyle again. Kyle glowered, but there was nothing he could do. He took the bucket.

Queen glanced at his son. “You know your duties, Connor. I suggest you perform them, but keep at eye on the Admiral. See that he doesn’t decide to be a hero.”

“Aye, Captain.”

Queen strode off. Connor met Kyle’s eyes and shrugged, his expression inscrutable, then walked off in the other direction.

Kyle stared at the bucket of soapy water in his hand. Then, muttering bitter curses under his breath, he knelt down, rolled his sleeves up, and began to scrub the boards.

The _Green Arrow_ was not particularly large as ships went, but that morning under the hot Pacific sun it seemed like the biggest vessel the ocean had ever seen. Kyle stripped his shirt off in the heat, then put it on two hours later when he felt his back begin to burn. Sweat ran into his eyes, and when he wiped them, arm wet with soapy, salty water, they stung even more. His back ached, his arms ached, and he would almost have welcomed the sharks as a respite, but he had a feeling Queen was waiting for him to fail, and it drove him on.

Kyle Rayner had never backed down from a task in his life. The _Green Arrow’s_ deck would be as clean as the day she was built, if he had anything to say about it.

Whenever he glanced up in his task and looked around, Connor was busy, but never so far away he couldn’t keep an eye on Kyle. If he had to go belowdecks for something, he’d assign one of the sailors watch. It made the back of Kyle’s neck prickle, to know that he couldn’t escape Connor’s gaze, that he was trapped at the mercy of those unreadable eyes.

The dinner bell came as an inexpressible relief. Kyle eased his creaking, aching body out of its kneeling position and followed Connor into the blessedly cool darkness of the hold. Most of the crew took their simple meal – a bit of salt pork between two hunks of bread, an apple, and a ration of ale – abovedecks, but Connor, after a quick glance at the crimson back of Kyle’s neck, suggested they take theirs below, and Kyle was only too happy to oblige.

Connor took water with his midday meal, as did Kyle. He was not some ale-swigging pirate, drunk in the middle of the day!

They ate perched on water casks, Kyle drumming the heels of his boots idly against the side of the barrel, Connor seated Eastern style, back ramrod straight. At first, Kyle was just glad to be eating – scrubbing the deck had not been easy, and the labor had given him a good appetite. But once the initial pangs of hunger were satiated, the silence grew oppressive. And he was curious about Connor.

“Why were you in the brig?” he asked, his voice sounding loud and sudden in the dark, quiet hold. Connor looked at him, startled. “Of the _Tattoo_. What did they want with you?”

Connor gave a little shrug. He was not eating the salt pork, Kyle noticed. “Captain Sinestro is not terribly fond of my father. I believe he intended to send my head back to the _Green Arrow_ as a warning.” He took a sip of water. “We were at port. They waited until I was alone in the temple, then surrounded me. Luckily I was able to carve a T into the doorframe before they could carry me off.”

“And you knew Queen would find you just from that?” Kyle asked. It seemed an extraordinary bit of faith.

“He’s my father,” Connor said simply.

“Oh.” Kyle was reminded of something else he’d been wondering. “Why didn’t you say anything to me before?” he asked. Connor looked at him, a question in the slight furrow of his brow. “In the brig. I talked ceaselessly for two days, and you never once let on that you spoke English.”

“Why did you talk if you didn’t think I understood?” Connor returned.

[](http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v237/poisonivory2/chapter5.jpg)  
_“Why did you talk if you didn’t think I understood?”_

Kyle took a bite of his apple to give himself time to think of an answer. “I don’t know,” he said when he finished chewing. “What else had I to do?” Somehow he felt strange saying what he’d felt in the brig; that he had to remember the crew, that Connor could understand. “But even before that…I mean, I introduced myself, and you just looked at me.”

It was Connor’s turn to pause. “I…didn’t yet know what to make of you,” he said finally, and for the first time since Kyle had met him he sounded uncertain. Then he frowned, and the uncertainty was gone. “Besides, even those of us without noble, virtuous parents from Dublin or Madrid don’t appreciate being called ‘savage.’”

Kyle colored. “I apologize,” he said. “That was wrong of me. But I didn’t know you spoke English!”

“And if I spoke French?” Connor asked. “Or German, or Spanish? Would I have been a savage then?” He shook his head. “No, of course not. What if I had spoken in Hindi, or Swahili? What if I had said: _Daang shin'e whei naayea gi boon ul e'doke maandu nun gi morul gedsoyo?_ ” He snorted. “Poor Captain Rayner. A white man who is the wrong _kind_ of white. It must have been very hard for you, looking like everybody else.” He got to his feet. “Come on. I’m sure the captain has another task for you, and I have my duties.”

Kyle followed, his stomach churning with guilt and embarrassment. He wanted to apologize, but he wasn’t quite sure what to say. And Connor didn’t seem in any mood to hear him out, anyway.

It was a relief, then, when Queen told him to report to Mia, the cabin girl, for his afternoon’s task, and not just because Kyle had had rather more sun that he should have that morning.

“Connor will be checking on you regularly,” Queen warned Kyle, nodding at Connor, who frowned and squinted out over the waves. “And I wouldn’t advise trying anything even when he’s not there. I have given Mia full permission to stab you if necessary. Or even if unnecessary.”

Mia grinned and winked at Kyle.

The work of the afternoon was no less ignominious than that of the morning: peeling potatoes. Mia fetched two knives, cleaner than her own beltknife, from the cook, Radu, and handed one to Kyle, then sat down Eastern-style, like Connor. Kyle perched on an overturned bucket.

“You trust me with a knife?” he asked, holding up the weapon. True, it wasn’t very big, but then neither was Mia.

“I trust _meself_ ,” she replied, opening the nearest sack and tossing him a potato. “If I can’t defend meself against a big, slow, pampered Navy bloke what ain’t got no trainin’ with his weapon, I deserve to get stuck.”

Kyle smiled ruefully and began to peel the potato in his hands. It was harder than it looked.

“How does a London girl come to serve aboard a pirate ship?” he asked as Mia took up her own potato and began to peel the skin off in one long, unbroken coil. “I can tell by your brogue that you weren’t born upon the waves.”

“I was a whore,” Mia said matter-of-factly, and Kyle slipped and cut himself.

He stuck his bleeding finger in his mouth. Mia put her skinned potato aside and continued.

“One of my gents got a bit too grabby with me,” she said. “Touched in the head, he was – the kind that likes to have their fun with the girls, then cut their throats. I knew better than to go anywhere with him, but he didn’t want to take no for an answer.” She placed her second potato next to the first, and reached for another. “Captain Queen was in town – in disguise, of course – lookin’ for supplies he couldn’t get nowhere but England. He saw I was in trouble, and stepped in to…help.”

Kyle raised his eyebrows. Judging by what he’d seen of Queen so far, he didn’t envy that particular client of Mia’s. He didn’t feel any particular sympathy with the fellow either, though.

Mia shrugged. “There ain’t many who’d help a whore, and fewer still who’d help her and not ask for a free tumble for it. It made me curious, like. So I thanked the captain, let him get ahead of me, and then followed him back to his rooms. I heard enough there to figure out who he really was, so next morning I followed him to his ship and introduced meself as his new cabin girl.” She smiled, remembering. “He didn’t like that one bit, but it was the only way to keep me from talkin’, so he took me on, and here I’ve been ever since.”

Kyle put down his first peeled potato next to Mia’s three. “You renounced England to follow a pirate,” he pointed out, but somehow the accusation lacked force, in the face of Mia’s frankness.

“England never did nothin’ for me,” she said. “Captain Queen saved my life.”

There was that. “Who _is_ he?” Kyle asked. “I’ve never heard of a pirate who champions the virtue of, er.” He blushed, and Mia smirked. “Ladies of the night.” At that she laughed aloud, and Kyle couldn’t help smiling back. “And Connor…that is, Hawke…uh. He said…” Kyle paused, remembering. “He said you _help the innocent_.”

Mia’s mouth quirked. “Connor’s a bit of a poet. You gonna peel that, or are you savin’ it for supper?” She pointed with her knife, and Kyle blinked at the potato in his hand; he’d forgotten he had a job to do down here. “I don’t know nothin’ about the captain ‘cept that he’s a good sailor and I owe him my life. He talks like a toff, but no one knows where he really comes from…except Roy, I guess, who was with him before anyone.”

Kyle frowned. “Not Connor? I mean…Roy isn’t his son too, is he?”

“Like enough,” Mia said. “Captain pretty much raised him. Connor’d only been aboard two years when I joined up.”

“Where was he before, do you know?” Kyle tried to ask it casually, but he must have overplayed his hand, for Mia gave him a look that was both questioning and perhaps a little too knowing.

“Somewhere in the Orient. Not sure where,” she said. “If you’re lookin’ for his life story, I think you should ask him, Admiral. Connor’s a fellow that likes his privacy. It’s not my place to tell what he don’t want told.”

“Maybe I will ask,” Kyle said, as if it didn’t matter very much. He pointed at the curl of peel trailing from Mia’s potato. “How do you do that?”

Mia gasped. “What! You a captain and they don’t even teach you the basics of sailin’?” she asked. “That’s poor trainin’, that is. It’s all in the wrist, y’see.” She flourished her knife, and Kyle did his best to copy her movement. “There you go! We’ll make a real pirate out of you in no time.”

“I should say not!” Kyle protested, but he found himself smiling again. Pirate or no, at least one member of the crew of the _Green Arrow_ was all right.


	6. Chapter 6

“…and if we’d only hit the Chinese harder to begin with, we wouldn’t be having these troubles with them now!”

Hal rolled his eyes as he walked down the corridors of Navy Headquarters, Gardner stomping along beside him. There were few things he’d rather do less than discuss tactics with Gardner; still, he was leaving the building now, and wouldn’t have to listen to the man’s bullheaded ideas for much longer.

“Commodore Jordan! Commodore Jordan, sir!”

Hal turned to see a messenger running after him, waving a slip. “Message for you, sir, from Oan Hall,” the boy panted out.

“Thank you, lad,” Hal said, taking the message and handing the boy a shilling. The boy bowed and ran off. “Excuse me, Gardner.”

He opened the message and scanned it. His reaction must have shown in his face, for Gardner said, “Good God, Jordan, what is it?”

“Kyle…” Hal said, and then read the first line aloud. “ _Have just received word from Captain Stewart that the_ Ion _has been lost. Cabin boy only survivor._ ”

[](http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v237/poisonivory2/chapter6.jpg)  
_"Have just received word from Captain Stewart that the_ Ion _has been lost."_

“No…” Gardner said, turning pale.

Hal read on. “ _Captain Rayner appears to have been taken prisoner by pirates._ Green Arrow _spotted during battle. As we are aware of your friendship with Captain Rayner, we thought it best to advise you. Our condolences. Sincerely, Lord Ganthet._ ”

“No,” Gardner said again, and snatched the message slip from Hal, lips moving faintly as he read it over. “There must be some mistake, Rayner hasn’t…he’s not…”

Hal closed his eyes. Kyle, who had been only six when his father had died saving Hal’s life; Kyle, captured by pirates – by the _Green Arrow_ , no less. _Oh, Ollie, no…_

“ _Bloody hell!_ ” Gardner roared, crumpling the message and hurling it to the floor. “That blasted stinking pirate scum! I’ll see him hanged! No, I’ll hang him myself!” He stormed towards the door, and Hal grabbed him.

“Where are you going?” Hal demanded.

“What do you mean, where am I going?” Gardner asked. “I’m getting my ship, and I’m going to find Oliver Queen, board his ship, and punch him in the face until he gives Rayner up.”

“Find Queen? In the whole of the Pacific? How, pray tell?” Hal asked. “Gardner, I understand that you’re upset, but you can’t risk the lives of your men on a mad quest for vengeance!”

“ _Don’t tell me what I can’t do!_ ” Gardner thundered. People were staring now. “You may not feel any sense of loyalty towards Rayner, but I know my duty to a friend!”

“How _dare_ you?” Hal shot back. “Rayner is _my_ friend too. I practically raised him! But I know my duty to my country, too, and it’s not to throw my life away drifting aimlessly through a combat zone!”

“Queen’s not a _magician_ , Jordan! He can’t vanish into the sky between attacks! He needs supplies, he needs to trade his stolen goods. We know where the pirates make port, we can track him that way.”

“And how long will that take? A year? Two? How long do you think he intends to keep Rayner alive, if he’s even still alive now?” Hal’s stomach churned as he said those last words, but he knew they were true.

“Then I will find Oliver Queen, and I will kill him,” Gardner said levelly. “We have lost too many men to that bastard, and if we must lose Rayner he will pay for it in blood. You may not be man enough to go after Queen, Jordan, but I’m not afraid of him!”

Hal’s voice went very cold. “You will not call me a coward again.”

“I’ll call you what I know you to be, Hal Jordan, and that’s a coward if you won’t lift a finger for the boy you claim to love like a father – _oof_!”

Hal grabbed Gardner by the collar and slammed him against the wall, his blood pounding in his ears. “ _You will not call me a coward again!_ ” he shouted. “I fear nothing, and I would happily die if I knew it would bring Kyle back home, but it won’t, and all the hotheaded posturing in the world won’t change that!”

Gardner shoved Hal back. His fists clenched, and for a moment Hal thought Gardner was about to strike him, but… “Sirs!” a nearby clerk said, and suddenly there were clerks and lesser officers there, not quite holding Gardner and Hal back, but ready to do so if necessary.

Hal tried to will himself to be calm. “I follow my orders, Gardner,” he said. “I suggest you do the same.”

Gardner glared at Hal, looking as though he’d be quite happy to take on Hal and all the rest of the men in the corridor. “I’ll do what is _right_ , and _hope_ my orders match,” he spat.

Shaking off a restraining hand on his shoulder, he turned on his heel and started off, then stopped. “If it won’t contradict your _orders_ , you might tell Mrs. Rayner that she’s lost a son,” he said without turning round; then he stepped through the front door, and was gone.

He would have to, Hal realized. He reached up to rake his fingers through his hair, feeling sick. Had he only done things differently, had he not blocked pursuit of the _Green Arrow_ …

“Oh, Kyle, I’m sorry,” he mumbled, and didn’t care who heard.

* * *

Jenny heard.

Jenny, who had been at Headquarters to visit her father, and who had been about to round the corner when she’d heard Hal first read the message from the Lord Guardians. Jenny, who’d stayed hidden as the fight between Commodore Jordan and Captain Gardner had escalated, as they’d shouted about whether her unofficial fiancé was dead or merely captured indefinitely by the blackest-hearted pirate on the sea.

Jenny, who had been longing for a way out of her impending marriage.

For a moment after Gardner stormed out she stayed frozen against the wall, struggling to breathe. No. Not Kyle, not the friend of her childhood. She didn’t want to imagine him gunshot, or stabbed, or blue and swollen somewhere beneath the waves, but the images persisted in her mind.

It couldn’t be. She was going to marry Kyle. She was going to marry him, and he would make her laugh, and make her heart race with his touch, and be a lover and a provider and a good father to their children.

How could she have ever thought she wanted anything else?

Suddenly in the place of despair came determination. She would not simply fret helplessly over Kyle, the way Jordan seemed inclined to do. If nothing else, she at least could educate herself on Kyle’s captor.

She turned on her heel and marched back into her father’s office. He looked up, startled, as she threw the door open. She threw doors open quite often, but usually in the privacy of their home.

“By the Starheart, Jenny! What are you – What’s the matter?” the admiral asked, seeing her expression.

“It’s Kyle – Captain Rayner,” she said. “I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but I overheard Commodore Jordan and Captain Gardner discussing a message Commodore Jordan received from the Lord Guardians. Captain Rayner has been taken aboard the _Green Arrow_!” She felt hot tears spilling down her cheeks as she spoke, and cursed them. This wasn’t the _time_ for grief, this was the time for action.

“Oh, Jenny,” her father said, coming around his desk to pull her into his arms, which just started a fresh storm of tears. She let herself cry for a minute, feeling the tension in her father’s frame, his own unhappiness at Kyle’s abduction.

Then Jenny pushed him away gently, took the handkerchief he offered, and dried her eyes. “Father, I want to ask you something.”

“Anything, sweetheart,” he said, trying to smile reassuringly.

Jenny took a steadying breath. “Tell me about Captain Queen.”

Her father frowned. “Jenny, I don’t really think this will help you…”

“You said anything!” she reminded him. “It’s rumored that he was once a gentleman. I know you’ve never said all you know about him, and neither has Commodore Jordan. I want to know if he’s likely to…what he’s likely to do.”

“This is not a fitting subject of discussion for a young lady…” her father tried again.

“Most young ladies do not have fi – do not have dear friends in the clutches of pirates!” Jenny retorted. “I am not a child, and I have not lived my life the daughter of an admiral innocent of the dangers of naval service. Isn’t it better for me to know as much as there is to know rather than tear my heart out wondering?”

Admiral Scott paused for a long moment, then sighed. “Very well,” he said. “I don’t see what good it will do you to know this, but I will tell you what I know.”

Jenny sat in the chair reserved for guests to the admiral’s office, and her father moved to sit behind the desk. “The rumors are true,” he said. “Captain Queen was a gentleman. He was also an officer in Her Majesty’s Royal Navy.”

Jenny stared at him. “An officer in… Then…did you know him?”

Her father nodded. “Not well, but I knew him. He served under me briefly, before the Lord Guardians chained me to this desk.” He gave a quick, wry smile, a twist of lips that spoke volumes about his bitterness at his deskbound life. “He was hotheaded and impetuous, and there were some scandalous rumors about his various romances, but he was also an incomparable sailor, a fine officer, and no one could fault his courage. More than once I saw him charge into an entirely uneven fight because he could not stand to see bullying. Of course he was not meant to be fighting in the first place, so he was often up before the Lord Guardians for disciplining. But it always seemed to me that his heart was in the right place in these fights.”

He made a noncommittal gesture, as if unable to reconcile the champion of the downtrodden with the pirate captain. “Of course, as I say, I did not know him well. That honor fell to Commodore Jordan.”

“Commodore Jordan!” Jenny echoed.

“Indeed. You may have noticed he doesn’t like to speak of Queen. I imagine it is painful to him, for they were like brothers, as close as Gardner and Rayner in their way.” He frowned. “Their way involved a lot of fighting, as I recall. Rarely did a day go by without their having some difference of opinion, and arguing it loudly. But they were devoted to one another, and they worked well together, which was why they were dispatched on the same mission fifteen years ago, during the first war with China.”

Fifteen years ago…there was something familiar about that date, but Jenny couldn’t focus on remembering what while caught up in her father’s story.

“I don’t think anyone really knows what happens that day, except perhaps Jordan,” her father went on. “There weren’t many survivors, at least not from Jordan’s ship.”

In a flash, Jenny remembered. “Kyle’s father.”

The admiral nodded. “Yes. He gave his life to save his captain that day – Jordan was only Captain Jordan then, of course. I imagine there were many such heroic efforts, but...” He paused. “Exactly what happened is unclear. All we know is that Queen suddenly turned traitor and began firing on the other British ships in the battle. They were hard-pressed by the Chinese as well, and in the general chaos the Empire was driven back and the battle lost.

“Queen fled, abandoning his life as a British citizen without a thought for his responsibilities, which, I fear, was less of a surprise to me than his initial betrayal. He was engaged to a young lady whose reputation was irreparably ruined by her association with a traitor. His young ward, a child he had picked up on a trip to America, apparently on a whim, disappeared. I tried to track the boy, for I was concerned about him, but I could find no trace of him. While I hope he has come to no harm, I fear the worst. Even Jordan struggled to cast off the shadow of suspicion that hung over him after Queen’s defection, for everyone knew of their friendship. But then, no one can deny that Jordan fought valiantly for Her Majesty on that fateful day.” The admiral sighed. “The best that can be said is that it is now so many years since Queen’s betrayal that few know to associate Oliver Queen the gentleman with Oliver Queen the pirate. It is small consolation for the friends and family whose honor he has tainted.”

Jenny sat silently for a moment, processing what she had heard. What did this mean? Was Kyle now in the hands of a protector of the weak, or a wildly unpredictable lothario who could in an instant turn his back on his country and his dearest friends?

“…You said he had a fiancée?” Jenny asked.

Her father looked startled by the question, but then he couldn’t know why Jenny felt a sudden kinship with this woman, who, fifteen years ago, waited for a sweetheart who never returned from the sea. “Yes, a Miss King. I remember because it was such a great joke with the men, Mr. Queen and Miss King. I looked into her situation afterwards as I did with the boy – she married a fellow named Jones, who ran a shooting gallery on Charing Cross Road. A sad comedown for the former fiancée of a captain, but as I said, her reputation was ruined.”

Jenny’s reputation would not be ruined by Kyle’s death. Somehow the retention of her honor, and his, seemed cold comfort.

Jenny gathered herself up and stood. “Indeed. Thank you for telling me all of this, Father. I do feel more equipped to face the situation now.”

“You are welcome, I suppose,” he replied, tilting his head up as she kissed his forehead. “Would you like me to take you home?”

“No thank you, I shall be all right,” she assured him. “It is a short ride, and Aunt Abigail surely has some soothing tea she can brew for me when I return home.”

“Undoubtedly,” Admiral Scott said. “Send a messenger if there is anything you require.”

“I shall.” Jenny opened the door, then stopped. She didn’t want to ask this question, but she couldn’t help herself. “Do you think he will kill him?”

“…I don’t know,” her father said, but from the look in his eyes, it was clear that he did.

Jenny’s path back to where she had told the carriage to wait took her around the side of Headquarters. Turning the corner, she nearly ran into Captain Gardner, deep in conversation with another man, furtiveness plain in the hunched line of their shoulders.

Quickly, Jenny ducked back out of sight, straining to hear what they were saying. She had already learned something that would have been kept from her, or at least highly sanitized, by eavesdropping on one of Captain Gardner’s conversations; what would this next one bring her?

“…them to be on the ship by four in the morning. We sail before sunrise,” Captain Gardner was saying, his voice so low Jenny could barely make out the words.

“You’re sure you want to sail without orders?” the other man asked. The voice was vaguely familiar, as was the quick glimpse of his face Jenny had caught. Captain Gardner’s first mate, she thought, a Mr…Wargo? That sounded right.

“I’ll not let Rayner rot in that damned pirate’s brig, no matter what Jordan says,” Captain Gardner growled. “We’ll find Queen, and we’ll either bring Rayner home, or bring his murderer to justice. If the Lord Guardians have a problem with me eliminating the worst pirate on the ocean…well, I shall deal with the Lord Guardians when they call for me.” His tone turned arch. “Do _you_ have a problem with it, Wargo?”

Wargo laughed. “Hell, it sounds like fun,” he said. “I’ll see to the men, Captain.”

“Good. Tonight, then.”

Jenny heard footsteps and quickly straightened up and walked round the corner as naturally as she could. Captain Gardner looked surprised when he saw her, then bowed.

“Good afternoon, Miss Scott. Visiting your father?”

Jenny curtseyed. “Good afternoon, Captain Gardner. Yes, I was.”

“Oh. Uh…good.” He fidgeted.

Jenny had a sudden devilish impulse. “Have you heard from Captain Rayner lately?” she asked. “I know he’s at sea, but I thought you might have had a Hall pigeon or something.”

Captain Gardner looked at her, startled, and there was grief in his eyes, and clear confusion over what to say. Finally he said, “…Um, no, no I haven’t,” and looked away.

Jenny tamped down her anger. She was not a child, for God’s sake! She was capable of knowing the truth! “Oh, I see.”

“Well, I…I must be off,” Gardner said hastily, his natural diffidence in situations where he couldn’t argue with other sailors colliding with his evident embarrassment over his lie. “Give my best to your father.”

“Thank you, Captain, I’ll do that,” she said, and headed for her carriage.

Damn them all, she thought as the horse fought its way through the congested London streets. Damn Gardner for not thinking her capable of coping with the truth even as he planned to sail off to who knew where in search of his friend. Damn her father for making her force the truth out of him, for patronizing her every step of the way. And most of all damn Jordan, for protecting his mad friend, for never warning Kyle. It was painful to him, her father had said. Well, it was painful to Jenny to have most likely lost not just a fiancé but a lifelong friend, and it was surely painful to Mrs. Rayner to have lost both husband and son to the same monster.

They were all as bad as Queen, really, nursing their wounds and making their plans and leaving the women and the children behind to bear the brunt of the suffering. What had become of the woman Queen had abandoned? Married a shooting-gallery owner in the Charing Cross Road, Admiral Scott had said. That told Jenny nothing. Did she still love Queen? Did she hate him? Did she, perhaps, know whether he was likely to kill a young Navy captain he had taken prisoner?

Did she know how to comfort the girl the Navy captain had left behind?

Jenny rapped suddenly on the roof of the carriage. “Solomon!” she called to the driver. “Let’s not go home yet. Charing Cross Road, please!”

It took the better part of the early afternoon to first reach Charing Cross Road, and then travel up and down it, trying to trace a shooting-gallery that had last been heard of fifteen years ago. At last Jenny discovered the building where it had been, now converted into a rather seedy haberdasher’s. The shopkeeper told her that the Jones in question had died fourteen years ago – another blow to Miss King, or more properly Mrs. Jones – and that Mrs. Jones, he believed, had established a dancing school on Newman Street.

It took over an hour to find the dancing school, and Jenny was beginning to regret missing her tea by the time she walked into the place. It was small, with a rather desperate air of shabby gentility. There were no pupils, all of them gone home for tea, but a girl of about fifteen, with pale golden hair and a wiry, birdlike grace to her, looked up from her meal as Jenny walked in.

“I’m sorry, we’re closed,” she said, looking mildly irritated. Jenny supposed she had a right to – the lights were lowered, and the sign in the door, she saw now, was turned with the “Closed” side facing outwards.

“I’ve not come for lessons,” Jenny said hastily. “I’m sorry to interrupt your tea, but it’s terribly important that I speak to Mrs. Jones. Is she here?”

“I’m afraid she’s out at the moment,” the girl said. “Would you like to leave a message? Or…” She paused, clearly reluctant to make the offer but unable to find a polite way not to. “…You could wait. She should be back in an hour.”

“Thank you, I’ll wait.”

There was another reluctant pause, then, “…Would you like some tea?”

“Thank you,” Jenny said again, trying not to sound too eager. She sat at the small table across from the girl, who stood to pour her a cup. “My name is Jane Scott, by the way.”

“Cecily Jones,” the girl replied. “Mrs. Jones is my mother. Sugar?”

“One, please, and lemon,” Jenny said. “Thank you.” Miss Jones passed her her cup, and a scone. “Thank you.” Jenny wanted to stop saying thank you.

“May I ask what you need to see my mother about?” Miss Jones inquired as Jenny tried not to wolf down her scone. “Perhaps I can help.”

Jenny gave her a bitter smile. “I doubt it. I want to ask her about…someone I believe she knew before you were born.”

Miss Jones raised her eyebrow. “Oh? How long before? You can’t be very much older than I.”

“I am nineteen,” Jenny said. “But it’s not someone I knew personally.” Miss Jones just looked at her, both eyebrows up now, and Jenny sighed. “All right. Do you…have you ever heard of a man named Oliver Queen?”

Miss Jones’s face went strangely flat, expressionless. “Captain Queen. The pirate.”

“Yes. I…” But it was too much, the weight of her secrets bearing down on her, and Jenny couldn’t hold it back anymore. “He’s taken my fiancé prisoner and I’m not supposed to know about it but I do and there’s a rescue attempt planned which I’m _also_ not supposed to know about and no one will tell me anything and there’s no way I can help Kyle and all I can do is worry about what Queen will do to him so I’m trying to find out what kind of a man Queen is and my father said that your mother used to be engaged to him and I thought she might tell me if he’s likely to kill Kyle or perhaps let him go because even if he’s not officially my fiancé because we never told Father I did tell Kyle yes and no matter what else we are he’s my best friend and I can’t let him die without at least doing _something_!” The last word was almost a scream and she realized as she said it that she was standing.

Miss Jones was staring at her – thankfully not as though she thought Jenny mad. More like she was trying to make a decision.

“My mother _was_ engaged to Oliver Queen,” she said slowly as Jenny sat back down. “But she never speaks of him. I cannot tell you what kind of a man he is.” Her mouth twisted, a bitter smile. “I can only infer.”

“What do you mean?” Jenny asked, though as she said it she realized that surely Miss Jones must be referring to the state Queen had left Mrs. Jones’s reputation in when he turned treason.

“Of course,” Miss Jones said. “You have only just heard of the Jones women. You have not heard the rumors.” There was that twist again. “I suppose I should not tell you this, but it is common knowledge in these parts. Which is not terribly good for business, but I never much cared for teaching dancing anyway.” She sipped her tea. “Oliver Queen proposed to my mother, went to sea three weeks before the wedding, turned traitor, and never returned. Two months later my mother married Bernell Jones. Seven months later I was born.”

She paused to let Jenny do the math. “My father – that is, Mr. Jones – died when I was still in swaddling cloths. I never knew him. But I have seen his portrait, and I do not resemble him in the slightest.”

Jenny felt tremendously awkward, unsure of what to say, fiddling with her now-empty teacup. “I…”

“You want to know what kind of man Oliver Queen is,” Miss Jones went on. “I would be interested to know myself. Did he love my mother? I warn you, she is difficult to love, but he must have, to propose to her, to…” She cut herself off with an angry, wordless noise. “I know what kind of man he is _not_. He cannot be a good man. But I should like to know _why_. Why he asked her, why he compromised her, why he left her…”

And that was the question Jenny was stunned to realize she had never asked herself: Why? Why had Oliver Queen committed treason? It was at the heart of both of their problems, Miss Jones’s and her own.

“It is at times like this I should like to switch places with my brother,” Jenny said. Miss Jones looked at her as if she had forgotten Jenny was there. “He has never had any interest in following in our father’s footsteps, but any ship in the Navy would welcome him any day he decided to board one,” Jenny explained. “Todd could walk onto Captain Gardner’s ship and go with him to track down Queen, and everyone would think it right and fitting, though I have always been closer to Kyle.”

“It’s different for boys,” Miss Jones said, with that air of bitterness that seemed to cloud her every statement.

There was a pause; then they both stared at each other.

“It’s mad,” Jenny said. “We should be caught straightaway.”

“Of course it is,” Miss Jones agreed. “And being found out would be the ruin of us.”

“Not to mention that it would be incredibly dangerous. I have lived my life around sailors, but I have not exactly been trained for naval combat.”

“ _You_ untrained? I have never been on a ship!”

They paused again.

“Do you suppose you could find some of your brothers’ old castoff clothes for us to wear?” Miss Jones asked. “We could cut our hair, or bundle it up under caps…”

“My Aunt Abigail has saved every garment Todd and I have ever grown out of, I’m sure,” Jenny replied. “I can surely find something. Do you think you can be ready by four tomorrow morning? They sail before the dawn.”

Miss Jones stood. “I can be ready in the time it takes me to write a letter to my mother. There’s nothing here for me.”

Jenny stood as well. “Then write it, and let’s be off before we think the better of it.” She held out a hand, and Miss Jones stared at it. “If we’re to be men, we should shake hands like men, Miss Jones.”

Miss Jones smiled, then clasped her hand. “Call me Cissie.”


	7. Chapter 7

“Don’t fall, now.”

Kyle stopped staring at the deck, yawing several stories below him, to glare at Harper, who looked as at home in the rigging as the seabirds that roosted there when the ship was docked. “Thank you, Harper. I don’t know where I would be without your excellent advice.”

Harper grinned. “Falling, most likely. Come on, let’s get to work.” He threw a rope across to Kyle, and Kyle just barely managed to snag it, his legs and other arm hooked into the rigging for dear life.

Kyle glared again, scooting down the rigging to the end of the mainsail. It had been some years since his own days of scarpering about the rigging, and even then it had been done with rather more care than Harper was taking now. “Remind me again why _I’m_ up here and not Mia or someone else more suited to climbing around like a marmoset?”

“Because Ollie doesn’t like you,” Harper said, pulling the sail up and weaving the new rope through the grommets. The rope that had been holding it in place had frayed and broken, and Harper and Kyle had been sent up to patch it.

“Doesn’t he like _you_?” Kyle asked.

“ _I’m_ not scared.”

“I’m not _scared_!” Kyle retorted indignantly, and poked the rope defiantly through a grommet. Harper just laughed. “And, wait…‘Ollie’? You’re on first-name terms with the captain?”

“I should be,” Harper said. “He’s only raised me the past 18 years.”

Kyle’s brow furrowed. “But I thought you were American? Queen – uh, Captain Queen – is English.”

“I was born in America,” Harper explained, tugging the sail up into place and moving on to the next grommet. “Never knew my mother. My father died in a fire when I was still just a little thing. We were on Indian land, so they took me in, but a few years later Ollie came by, and they figured I’d be better off with a rich Englishman than constantly being herded onto smaller and smaller parcels of land by Washington.” Harper’s tone was bitter for a moment; then he was cheerful again. “Anyway, I’ve been with Ollie ever since.”

Kyle paused, weighing his next question. “I take it he wasn’t a pirate then?”

Harper drew the next grommet up, raising an eyebrow at Kyle in a way that told Kyle he wasn’t one bit fooled by Kyle’s casual tone. “You want Ollie’s life story, you’re going to have to ask him.”

Kyle snorted. “Oh, yes, I’m sure that conversation would go swimmingly, right up until he shot me.”

“Oh, he wouldn’t shoot you,” Harper assured him. “Waste of a bullet. He’d just throw you overboard.”

“That’s very comforting,” Kyle said, and Harper grinned at him. Kyle grinned back, then quickly looked back down at his work. He had to keep reminding himself that it didn’t matter how friendly and charming Harper and Mia and the rest of the crew might be. They were his enemies, and he would likely die at their hands unless he was very, very lucky.

Still, the silence between them as they worked was companionable, and once Kyle had gotten used to the perilous height, repairing the sail was much more pleasant work than swabbing the deck had been. He followed Harper down when they were finished, and Harper handed him over to Connor.

“Your prisoner, little brother,” Harper said. “You’ll be happy to know he didn’t try to mutiny once.”

“Imagine my relief,” Connor said. “How long until we make port?”

Harper squinted up at the sun. “You’ve got a couple of hours, I’d say. Is that enough time?”

“It should be.” Connor nodded at Kyle. “Come on.”

Kyle trotted after him. Being heeled like a dog was annoying, but what could he do? “We’re making port?” he asked as they headed for the hold.

“Yes. Dropping off supplies, and replenishing our stores.” Connor was just as brusque as he’d been that morning and the night before – as brusque as he’d been since he’d given Kyle an entirely justified lecture and stalked off. Kyle had been carrying around an icy knot of guilt in his stomach ever since, and each curt command from Connor made it worse.

Kyle blinked to adjust his eyes to the darkness of the hold, and followed Connor over to the wooden, straw-stuffed cases stacked by the water casks. “We need to carry these up on deck, where they’ll be loaded onto palettes so they can be taken off the ship,” Connor said. “They’ve glass bottles inside, so be careful when you’re carrying them.”

“Co – Hawke, wait. Before we do…” Kyle reached out for Connor’s arm, drew back before making contact, and felt himself flush uncertainly. Connor looked at him, eyes cool and unreadable in the low light.

“I would like to apologize,” Kyle said. “I was thoughtless and hypocritical when I called you…what I did, and you were right to task me with it. You have shown greater character than many white men I have known, and I suspect you would no matter what language you spoke. I am sorry.”

Connor looked startled…and, Kyle realized, embarrassed. “It is I who should apologize, Captain Rayner,” he said. “You drew your conclusions on the evidence I gave you, and if your words were less than tactful, they at least were not meant to be cruel. I – ”

“That’s no excuse!” Kyle said hastily. “What – ”

Connor spoke over him. “It’s – no, please, after – ”

They stumbled into silence, which at least was better than constantly interrupting one another.

Finally Connor spoke. “I accept your apology, Captain Rayner.”

“Thank you,” Kyle said. “And I accept yours, Mr. Hawke.”

“Thank you.” Connor smiled. Kyle wasn’t sure he’d seen Connor smile once since they’d met; at least, he certainly hadn’t smiled at _Kyle_. But he was smiling now.

He was beautiful.

“We had better start moving the crates,” Connor said. “The captain won’t like it if we make port and the palettes aren’t ready.” He turned to the nearest crate, checked the lid to make sure it was properly nailed down, and picked it up, heading for the stairs.

Blinking, feeling strangely out of sorts, Kyle checked the next crate – and stopped, heart sinking. The lid was stamped with the name of a well-known British trading company. _Of course_. These were pirates, of _course_ they were trafficking in stolen goods! Still, Kyle felt somehow betrayed – betrayed by Harper and Mia’s friendliness, by Connor’s smile, by this whole damn ship.

And Connor had had the nerve to make Kyle feel guilty! Kyle might have made a social _faux pas_ , but what was that compared to the murder of honest merchants in order to sell their goods at a steep price on the black market? And now they were using Kyle as a pack mule to help Queen fill his coffers. This would not stand.

Kyle considered simply refusing to help load the crates, then quickly thought the better of it. They were making port in less than two hours. Everyone would be busy arranging for the sale of the stolen goods, replenishing the _Green Arrow’s_ stores, even stretching their legs on land if they were lucky. No one would be paying attention to the prisoner, the ship’s great joke. If there was ever a time to break away, it would be then. But the more defiant he seemed, the closer they would watch him.

Connor came back into the hold. “Captain Rayner? Is there a problem?”

Kyle tried to smile brightly. “Not at all. I was just making sure that this lid was securely nailed down.” He lifted the crate. “What are we carrying, if I may ask?”

“Medicine,” Connor said, walking past him to pick up the top crate from the stack next to Kyle’s. He wasn’t wearing a shirt, and his bare arm where it brushed Kyle’s was warm through the thin fabric of Kyle’s shirt. Kyle tried to ignore it. “I think it’s mostly for smallpox and enteric fever. Possibly malaria as well.”

Kyle turned hastily to the steps so as to hide his expression. Enteric fever and malaria meant that this medicine was most likely intended for British troops and civilians stationed in India, where those diseases were most virulent. He had lost friends to both over the years; it seemed he was likely to lose more, now.

It was lucky for Kyle that Connor was not the breezy conversationalist Harper and Mia were; lucky, too, that their staggered trips in and out of the hold prevented Kyle from talking, as Connor might have expected him to. He was in no mood to smile into that pirate’s face, to look blandly into those oh-so-sympathetic eyes. He wanted to take back all the words he’d said to Connor, his unburdening of his woes in the brig of the _Tattoo_ , his apologies, his thanks, but he would have to settle for making his escape if he could, and using what he knew of the _Green Arrow_ to bring the whole ship to justice.

The palettes were over half-full before the lookout cried “Land ho!” Three more trips into the hold and Kyle could see the land himself, without the benefit of a spyglass – a dark smudge on the horizon.

“What is it?” he asked Connor, nodding towards the land.

“I’m not supposed to say,” Connor said, and he actually looked apologetic. Kyle was impressed by his acting ability. “It’s not held by the British, I can tell you that.”

“Somehow I guessed as much,” Kyle said, and added his crate to the nearest palette. No matter. He could work for his keep, and wait until a ship that was bound for Europe came by. The trade in the Orient was so brisk there had to be one eventually.

The palettes were soon finished, but the work didn’t stop there, nor had Kyle expected it would. The ship was a hive of activity, everyone following Queen’s and Harper’s and even Connor’s barked orders as they drew the ship towards what Kyle could now see was a tiny cluster of islands. They made for the biggest one, sailing into a crowded harbor full of ships flying almost every flag Kyle had ever seen and some he hadn’t; pirate ships, swift European cutters, flat-bottomed Chinese barks, little fishing sloops half the size of the _Green Arrow_.

Kyle joined in where he could; he had no more wish to run aground than the crew did. The easier it was for the _Green Arrow_ to sail away without him, the better. He helped to load one palette onto the longboat, which was all they were taking; the rest would be distributed along the island chain. Kyle wasn’t really sure what kind of a profit Queen hoped to make from the natives, but perhaps they had pearl-divers or diamond mines hidden somewhere about.

“You’re with me, Connor,” Queen said, surveying the crew. “And you, Fyers. You two speak the language best.” He picked out three more who would join him, then turned to Harper. “Roy, you’re in charge here. You can send the men down in shifts in the other boat, but leave a watch, and remember, we’re sailing in a few hours.”

“No pigeon from the Canary then, huh?” Harper asked, an insouciant grin on his face.

“Watch your mouth,” Queen said sternly. Then he coughed. “She’s at the next port.” Harper laughed. “All right, enough tomfoolery. Let’s get moving!”

Queen, Connor, and the others Queen had picked out climbed over the side and into the longboat. Connor gave Kyle a little wave; then the rest of the crew lowered the boat and they were off.

Harper selected the next batch of men to go down in the second boat, assigning two of them to bring the boat back once its passengers had disembarked. He leaned against the railing and gazed at the bustling harbor, and Kyle joined him, searching for something to say. He had to make conversation, make it seem like escape was the furthest thing from his mind – and then, he was curious about one thing.

“The Canary?” Kyle asked.

Harper raised an eyebrow. “Surely you’ve heard of the Black Lady?”

Well, of course he had. The Black Lady was a better-known legend than Captain Queen, or perhaps even the pirate king, and she went by many names: the Siren, the Bird of Prey, the Canary. No one knew who she really was, or what she looked like – save that she was beautiful – or even whether she was human. But it was widely known that if a woman had been wronged – beaten, abandoned, raped – she had but to send a Hall pigeon to the Oracle, and the Black Lady would come. They said men who abused women slept with one eye open, fearing the Lady’s footfall in the night, and her song that could burst your heart in your chest.

“I didn’t think she was real,” Kyle said. The Lady had been whispered about longer than he’d been alive; his mother had told him she’d been told stories of the Lady as a little girl.

“Oh, my Mama Bird’s real,” Harper said with an affectionate grin.

Kyle gaped at him. “She’s your – ”

Harper waved a hand, forestalling him. “No, no, she’s not my mother. But she’s the closest I’ve ever had to one.”

This was unbelievable. At least there had been lost ships to confirm the existence of the _Green Arrow_ ; Kyle had never seen or heard of _any_ evidence of the Black Lady, save the drunkard down the street who used to beat his wife and daughters until he woke one morning with two broken arms and no explanation for how they got that way.

“But she’s been a legend for nearly fifty years!” Kyle said. “How could she have been fighting so long? And what is Oracle? Is it a place, is it a person…”

Harper shook his head. “I’ll only tell you what everyone else on this ship already knows: when we get a Hall pigeon from the Canary, we sail straight on to where she tells us, and no one sees the captain for days. But he’s always very happy when he comes back.” Harper laughed aloud at the look on Kyle’s face. “Close your mouth, Admiral, you’ll catch flies that way. Look, the boat’s already back. I’ve got to pick a new batch to send down.”

Harper made his way over to where the men were jostling to be the next ones off the ship. Kyle shook off his amazement and did some hasty calculations. The crew of the _Green Arrow_ was a small one; two more boatloads should be enough to take everyone off the ship but Kyle and the watch. His best bet for escape would be when the second boat had gone, mostly likely with Harper on it.

He surveyed the island, planning his route. He was taller and paler than the locals, but there were so many ships in the harbor that everyone was surely used to the sight of a white man. His blue coat was belowdecks, and without it it would take a hard look to identify him as a naval officer. He could do this.

It wasn’t long before Harper was preparing to disembark. “See you in a few hours,” he called to Kyle. “George, you’re in charge. Make sure Admiral Nelson doesn’t get in trouble, will you?”

George grinned and threw up a sloppy salute. “Aye, sir.”

Harper waved and was gone. Kyle didn’t move from his position staring at the shore, but he kept one eye on the watch left on the ship. Five men. Kyle could easily evade five men. He watched as George fell into a game of cards with three of the others, leaving the fifth to tootle idly on a fife, snatches of Irish-tinged sea shanties Kyle’s mother would have loved drifting across the sea.

Once they were fully caught up in their game, arguing good-naturedly over each hand, Kyle stood and stretched and wandered towards the other end of the ship, away from the shore. George glanced up at his movement, then turned back to the game.

Kyle’s heart quickened, but he kept his gait steady, meandering, until he was at the base of the quarterdeck, as far from the card game as he could possibly get, his view of the men mostly blocked by the masts.

Then he climbed up on the railing, took a breath, and dove into the sea.

[](http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v237/poisonivory2/chapter7.jpg)

_Then he climbed up on the railing, took a breath, and dove into the sea._


	8. Chapter 8

Hal was in no mood to report to Oan Hall the next morning. The previous day had been hell. Awash in his own grief and guilt, he’d stopped at Maura Rayner’s house and told her what had become of her son, answered her questions, and staunchly pretended not to notice when she cried. Then he’d visited Admiral Scott’s house; he knew Kyle had been courting Miss Scott, and she deserved to know. Miss Scott wasn’t home, and the admiral had already learned in some mysterious way, but Mrs. Hunkel was there, and she sobbed noisily upon hearing what had become of the little boy she had scolded and petted and given jam tarts to when he was good.

He’d spent the rest of the day pouring over the reports of the _Green Arrow_ , trying to piece them together, but they were mostly superstition and nonsense, and it didn’t help. Finally, cursing Oliver Queen and the _Green Arrow_ and himself most of all, he’d drunk himself into a stupor and crawled into bed.

But a summons was a summons, and so, head aching, Hal dragged himself to Oan Hall to report to his masters.

When he found himself before the assembled Lord Guardians _and_ Admiral Scott, he knew something big was brewing. “My Lords. Admiral.”

“Commodore Jordan,” Lord Ganthet said without preamble, “have you seen Captain Gardner recently?”

“Not since yesterday morning, my lord,” Hal said. “He…was with me when I received your message. He was understandably upset. Captain Gardner and Captain Rayner were good friends.”

“The _Warrior_ is missing,” said Lord Apsa. “She disappeared sometime between yesterday noon and today. A fisherman claims to have seen her set sail just before dawn this morning, apparently fully crewed.”

Hal bit back a curse just in time. That fool! “Captain Gardner must have gone in pursuit of the _Green Arrow_ , my lord,” he said. “He spoke of doing so, but I thought it just an idle threat, borne of his anger and grief.”

“You must bring him back,” Lord Apsa said.

Hal paused. “Forgive me, my lord, but would it not be worth it to see if Captain Gardner can succeed? He is likely to return in several weeks with nothing to show for his journey, but he might actually rescue Captain Rayner, or at the least rid the sea of a menace.” He bit his lip at the last word, but Ollie had long since squandered any loyalty Hal owed him.

“Normally, we would agree with you, Commodore,” Lord Ganthet said. “However…” His eyes flickered to Admiral Scott.

Admiral Scott stepped forward, and Hal noticed for the first time that he looked haggard, his uniform unkempt and his chin unshaven. “Jordan, my daughter is also missing,” he said. “She overheard your…discussion with Gardner, which is how I knew of Rayner’s abduction, and I have not seen her since I spoke of it with her yesterday morning. Nor has my son, nor my sister-in-law. There are things missing from her room suggesting she packed for a journey. And Todd…” He paused. “My son is sure that she’s gone with Captain Gardner. They are twins, Jordan. If anyone knows what Jenny will do, Todd does.”

Hal knew his face was ashen. _No._ How many lives would his misguided loyalty to his former friend claim? Kyle was most likely dead already, and now Hal’s foolishness had imperiled Gardner, who, if not exactly a _friend_ , was at least a stalwart ally in battle, and little Jenny Scott, who surprised Hal every time he saw her by not being eight years old anymore.

“We know you have…history with Oliver Queen,” Lord Apsa said. “We trust this will not interfere with your bringing back Captain Gardner and Miss Scott. At any cost.”

Hal knew that by “trust” the Lord Guardians really meant “demand.”

He bowed. “I will bring them back, my lords.” He looked at Alan, seeing the admiral’s worry, his frustration at not being permitted to go after his daughter himself. “You have my word.”

* * *

Jenny couldn’t believe how easy it had all been.

She and Cissie had gone upstairs to the flat above the dancing school and Cissie had thrown a scant few personal items in a bag, then scribbled a short note to her mother. It did not include specifics, which would only invite pursuit; it merely said that Cissie had gone to have some questions answered, would most likely not be back for several weeks, and not to worry. Jenny was not sure that a request not to worry would actually stop a mother from worrying, but Cissie waved off her concerns. “My mother taught me to be independent,” she said, sounding a little bitter.

Then they’d driven to Jenny’s house. Cissie had raised her eyebrows at the size of the estate and Jenny had blushed, but there was no time for genteel embarrassment. Aunt Abigail was calling on friends and Todd was doing whatever Todd did with himself all day, so Jenny and Cissie had only to avoid the servants as they rummaged through Todd’s room. In the spare chest of drawers, towards the bottom, they’d found clothing he’d grown out of. Jenny could fit into the garments of just two years ago, but they had to search far back to find something Cissie could wear. It was out of fashion, but Jenny didn’t suppose anyone would look too closely.

Cutting their hair had been the worst part. Jenny’s head felt light and strange without its usual heavy coil pinned to it, and her face in the mirror startled her every time she saw it, so much like her brother’s but more delicate, with the brown hair cropped close. But Cissie’s golden hair fell past her waist, and she turned very white when Jenny advanced on her with the scissors, and shut her eyes tight until it was done.

It was worth it, though. In Todd’s cast-off clothes, with their breasts bound flat beneath and the ends of their newly-shorn hair peeping from beneath their caps, they looked like boys – a few years younger than they actually were, but boys.

Jenny gathered the few things she could carry in her new costume – a locket with a miniature of her mother inside, a bit of money, her father’s signet ring to prove her identity if necessary.

By then it was suppertime; Jenny locked her door and told the servant who came to call her to dinner that she had a headache and would be retiring early. “A headache,” she had learned years ago, was a sort of miracle ailment; one could claim one at any time and retire to one’s room for hours, possibly even days, without being questioned. True to form, her family did not disturb her, and eventually, in whispers, she and Cissie agreed they should try to sleep a little before the dawn. Perhaps Cissie managed it, curled up on Jenny’s chaise longue; Jenny lay awake all night, her heart pounding in her chest.

They slipped out of the house an hour before dawn, collars turned up against the early morning chill. Walking the streets at such an hour was both frightening and exhilarating, but no one cared about two youths making their way towards the docks. They fell in with the crowd boarding the _Warrior_ , and the crew was too sleep-muddled and intent on silence to notice two extra cabin boys in their midst. When no one was looking, they’d ducked behind the sacks of gunpowder, piled high enough to hide them, and stayed there until the _Warrior_ had left England far behind her.

And now they were safely at sea, and even if they were caught there was no way that Captain Gardner would turn around just to deposit them on the shore. He’d have to sail on with them, until they found the _Green Arrow_. And then, and then…well, Jenny wasn’t sure, but she had faith she’d come up with something in time.

“We’ll stay here until dinner,” she whispered to Cissie, “and then join the men. It’ll be so crowded no one will notice us. Then they’ll probably put us to work. Stay away from the cabin boys, though, they’ll know we’re not one of them.”

“All right,” Cissie agreed.

Jenny settled back against the gunpowder, but sat upright again at a strange sound – a sort of rhythmic clicking, growing louder as it drew closer. She frowned, trying to remember where she’d heard that sort of clicking before, and why it was alarming her so.

Then a hairy, curious snout poked around the gunpowder sacks, and she realized what the sound was: a dog’s claws on the boards. A _large_ dog’s claws on the boards. Cissie grabbed her arm – in fear or warning, Jenny wasn’t sure.

[](http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v237/poisonivory2/chapter8.jpg)  
_A_ large _dog’s claws on the boards._

“Hello there, boy,” Jenny whispered, hoping against hope that this was a friendly dog, and better yet a friendly dog who would not be immediately inclined to alert its master to the presence of two stowaways. “Nice dog. Good dog.”

The dog, a sort of shaggy mongrel with a friendly, dimwitted face, cocked its head and looked at them. Its head was level with Jenny’s in her seated position, and its muzzle, she was sure, was full of quite a lot of very sharp teeth.

“ _Please_ be a nice dog?” Jenny asked, still in a whisper. She reached out a tentative hand for it to sniff, then scratched between its ears. The dog’s tail wagged, and Jenny breathed a sigh of relief.

Then the dog licked her face, stepped back, and started barking up a storm.

Jenny and Cissie blanched. “Shh! No! Bad dog! Quiet! Oh, _please_ be quiet!” they hissed, waving their hands as if it would silence the dog. The dog just kept barking, prancing cheerfully around them, its tail fanning wildly.

After a few minutes they heard boots on the stairs. The dog ran to meet them, still barking its head off, then ran back and forth between the girls and the approaching boots.

“All right, all right!” a deep, slightly familiar voice grumbled. “Stupid dog. If this is another rat, you’re gettin’ thrown overboard. You’re supposed to kill ‘em, not report ‘em to me.”

Jenny and Cissie had time to exchange one frightened glance before the man was looking round the sacks at them. It was Wargo, the _Warror’s_ first mate.

“Hey! What the hell are you two doing down here?” he asked.

“Uh,” Jenny stammered. “We were just…”

“…making sure there aren’t any rips in these sacks!” Cissie said quickly, pitching her voice low. “Track gunpowder around the ship and the old girl could go up like that, sir!”

“Who told you to do that?” Wargo asked.

“Uh…”

“Hang on a tick.” Wargo hunkered down to squint beneath the brims of their caps. “Who are you two? You ain’t Ernie or Freddie.”

“Uh…we’re new,” Jenny said.

Wargo’s eyes narrowed. “Sure you are. A little _too_ new. On your feet, you swabs! We’re goin’ to see the captain.”

There was nothing for it. Jenny and Cissie stood up and followed Wargo out of the hold. The dog pranced round their feet, clearly very proud of itself. “Traitor,” Jenny muttered to it.

The deck was a hive of activity, but Jenny soon spotted Captain Gardner, deep in conversation with his navigator. “Hey, Captain!” Wargo bellowed in that booming voice all first mates Jenny had ever met seemed to share. “Gnort found himself a couple of stowaways!”

Gardner turned. “ _What?_ ”

He sounded livid. Jenny gulped and tugged her cap forward as he stormed over. Wargo might not recognize her on sight, but she doubted her disguise could stand up to Gardner’s scrutiny, when he’d known her family for years.

Gardner stopped before them, hands on hips. “All right, who am I going to have to toss in the drink now? Off with those caps, let’s see you.”

Steeling herself, Jenny took off her cap and met Gardner’s gaze. Beside her, Cissie did the same. It _might_ be all right. After all, she looked awfully different with her hair short and in boys’ clothing.

Gardner’s eyes widened. “ _Jenny Scott?_ ”

So much for fooling Captain Gardner.

“I…J…Miss Sc…you…what have you done to yourself?” Gardner spluttered, gesturing to her hair, her clothes. The sailors who were within earshot gathered around them, staring. “Have you gone mad?” The dog tried to jump up on him, wagging its tail adoringly. “ _Down_ , Gnort.”

Jenny lifted her chin defiantly. “You’re not the only one who cares for Kyle, Captain Gardner.”

Gardner’s eyes widened further, and he turned an alarming shade of red. He opened his mouth to speak, stayed like that for a moment, and closed it again. Then he jerked his head at Cissie.

“I suppose that’s not a boy either?” he asked.

Jenny didn’t know how she did it, but somehow, surrounded by gaping sailors and on a rocking ship, dressed in trousers, Cissie dropped a perfectly elegant, sinfully aloof curtsey. “Miss Cecily Jones. Pleased to meet you, Captain Gardner.”

Gardner glared at her. “And what are you, Rayner’s long-lost sister? _Down_ , Gnort!”

Cissie stuck out her little chin. “I have business with Captain Queen.”

Gardner laughed, a braying, derisive sound. “Ha! What, did you want to deliver an invitation to your tea party in person? _Down_ , Gnort, and if you don’t stop jumping up on me I’m going to give you to the cook for tonight’s stew!”

“My business is personal,” Cissie replied.

“Personal? Listen here, this is my ship and – ”

“And what?” Jenny folded her arms over her chest. “Are you going to make us walk the plank, Captain Gardner?”

“By rights I ought to!” he thundered. “If we…had a plank. But that’s not the point! The point is – ”

“The _point_ is that we’re leagues off shore, and by now my father and the Lord Guardians have noticed we’re missing,” Jenny retorted. “Turn around now, and you’ll be court martialed for sailing without orders and kidnapping an admiral’s daughter. Return to England in a few weeks’ time with the two of us safe, Kyle rescued, and Queen in chains, and you’ll be hailed a hero.”

Gardner stared furiously at her for a long moment, a muscle in his jaw twitching. Jenny waited.

“…You stay, you work,” Gardner said finally. “This isn’t a pleasure cruise.”

Jenny kept herself from smiling triumphantly with an effort. “I expected no less.”

“Wargo!” Gardner barked. “Give ‘em their orders. I’ve got business to take care of.” He turned on his heel and marched off, Gnort trotting worshipfully at his heels, but Jenny could swear she heard him mutter, “Damn fine girl you got there, Rayner.”

Jenny looked over at Cissie, who was grinning back at her, heedless of Wargo’s glare. Jenny grinned back. Captain Queen had better start shaking in his boots, wherever he was, she thought. They were on their way.


	9. Chapter 9

Kyle fell.

It was a long fall, just long enough for Kyle to start to worry that his boots would drag him down or that the water wouldn’t be deep enough for him to survive this, but right before panic could truly set in he hit the water, and instinct took over. He stroked towards the surface, forcing his eyes open despite the sting of the salt to make sure he wasn’t about to swim headfirst into the _Green Arrow’s_ keel; then his head was out of the water, and he took a long breath of blessed air.

He looked back up at the _Green Arrow_ , but there was no sound from her besides the fife, no pirates racing to the railing to see where he’d gone. Biting back a sigh of relief – he was far from safe yet – Kyle swam for the nearest ship, making for the far side of it. He send a mental thanks to Commodore Jordan, leagues away, who’d taken Kyle to the seaside when he was a boy and showed him how to swim. Many sailors never learned, but Commodore Jordan took deep umbrage at the thought of a man who lived on the water drowning, and now Kyle knew why.

The water was cold and the salt stung his eyes, but Kyle soldiered on, swimming steadily until he was hidden from the sight of the _Green Arrow_ by the bulk of the next ship. He treaded water there for a minute, resting, then swam slowly along the length of the ship, keeping it between him and the _Green Arrow_. Peering around the side to make sure no one was watching, he swam as fast as he could, and underwater as much as he could, to the next ship. In this way he made his way past the big sailing ships on their anchors to the smaller, local fishing vessels, tied up to the docks.

From there he stayed beneath the dock, dark and slime-covered and foul-smelling as it was, until he felt the sand beneath him. He stumbled on until he could kneel, catching his breath; then he crept out from under the dock, making sure no one was watching, and ran, head bowed, behind the nearest building.

Move. He had to move, to keep going until he found a place that was safe and dry, and well-hidden from any pirates until the _Green Arrow_ hoisted anchor and sailed away. He made his way from building to building – huts, really – and then froze, hearing Connor’s voice.

He pressed his back to the side of the hut, inching towards the nearest window – just an opening cut in the side, no glass. Connor was speaking a strange combination of English, what sounded like the language he’d spoken in when he’d lambasted Kyle the day before, and something Kyle couldn’t place, in which his conversational partner replied rapidly and at length.

Kyle peered in the window, knowing he was taking an enormous risk but unable to stop himself. Queen, Fyers, and Connor were talking to several locals, one of whom seemed to be in charge. At the sight of the bedrolls along the walls Kyle realized this must be some rudimentary hospital, and the man Connor was talking to the chief doctor.

Connor took a bottle from the crates Kyle had helped him load, showed the doctor the label, said something in his other language – something like Chinese, Kyle thought, but not quite – and pointed to a young girl in a bedroll, her face covered with pockmarks. He was showing the doctor which medicine was for which illness, Kyle realized, as the labels were surely in English.

The doctor clasped Connor’s hands, and Kyle didn’t need to speak the language to know the doctor was thanking him profusely. Kyle wondered how much the hospital had had to pay for this gracious “gift.” None of the men from the _Green Arrow_ seemed to be carrying anything new, but one could fit a wealth of gold in a small purse.

The doctor bowed to Connor, and then to Queen and Eddie, all of whom bowed in response, Eddie somewhat reluctantly. Then they were heading for the door, and Kyle hastily moved under the window and around to the back of the hospital, as far away from his captors – _former_ captors – as possible.

He felt a little safer now, now that he knew where Queen was, but he still needed to find a good hiding spot. He moved further down the line of buildings until he came to one, sturdier and more solid than the rest, and noisy. He smelled food, and ale, and vomit – the unmistakable signs of a tavern.

Some of Queen’s men were surely in here. Kyle was about to move on when three men came around the back of the building. Cursing inwardly, he pressed himself into the shadows, trying to sidle around the corner of the tavern and out of sight.

“I don’t understand, Captain Merlyn,” one of the men was saying. They were clearly pirates, tattooed and ragged, their hair plaited and their manner rough. “Why are we hidin’ from Queen’s men?”

“We ain’t _hidin’_ from Queen’s men,” the apparent captain snapped. “We’re followin’ orders. His Majesty wants Rayner alive. Why fight Queen now when we can wait for him to bring Rayner to the king?”

Kyle’s blood ran cold. He hardly thought the pirates were referring to His Majesty Franz Joseph of Bohemia. Queen was working for the pirate king, then, and for some inexplicable reason they were both after Kyle. This had to be something to do with his memorized message for Captain Stewart; a barely-blooded captain of no name and no family was hardly worth much to pirates on his own merits.

“But how does Sinestro know where Queen’s sailin’?” the third man asked.

“Listen, why do you think Queen rescued the bastard?” Merlyn demanded. “Out of the goodness of his heart? Not bloody likely! He knows Rayner knows how to get the Starheart, and you can be sure Queen wants to get his hands on it just as badly as Sinestro and Victoria both!”

_The Starheart._

Kyle’s legs practically gave way beneath him. Forget the _Green Arrow_ , forget the pirate king, forget the Black Lady. Their legends paled, dimmed into nothing but stories told by prattling children, beside the Starheart, the Light of the World. A gem, some said, or a lantern, or a glowing, eternal flame, the Starheart could give its bearer unfathomable power and eternal life. It had razed ancient cities in China, it had brought the dead to walk upon the Earth again, it had caused the stars to cry out in the heavens.

And Kyle, apparently, held the secret to winning it.

At first blush it seemed impossible – impossible that the Starheart could even be real, let alone that Kyle could know how to retrieve it without _knowing_ he knew. But then, he hadn’t really believed in the _Green Arrow_ , and he certainly hadn’t believed in the Black Lady – though he had only Harper’s word that she existed. And here were men who swore allegiance to King Sinestro. If all those legends could be real, why not the Starheart?

Then, too, the message he had for Captain Stewart was an odd one. As orders from the Lord Guardians, it made little sense. As something to do with the Starheart, it began to take on a new meaning.

At the very least, Sinestro certainly _thought_ he knew how to find the Starheart. Why else would he have sent the _Tattoo_ to take Kyle prisoner?

And Queen was delivering Kyle into Sinestro’s hands. Or was he plotting to overthrow Sinestro? Deposing a pirate king would be child’s play for a man with the power of the Starheart; deposing all the crowned heads of _Europe_ would be child’s play. And Merlyn had said that Queen wanted the Starheart.

Kyle couldn’t quite picture Mia, with her cheerful insouciance, or Roy, with his amused carelessness, as right hands to a despot, and he couldn’t picture Connor in this new regime at all. But they _were_ pirates.

“And Sinestro’ll and all of us’ll be waitin’ for Queen when he sails into the harbor,” one of the pirates sniggered, as if in answer to Kyle’s thoughts.

Merlyn nodded. “I only wish I could kill Queen myself, but Sinestro’s reserved the privilege. That blasted do-gooder’s been a thorn in his side for too long. Ah, well, maybe he’ll let me kill one of Queen’s sons while Queen watches, now that Tarrant’s cocked it up.”

Kyle started to ease out of his hiding place, hoping to sidle further around the building and out of sight. Merlyn might have been waiting for Queen to show up at Desolation with Kyle, but that didn’t mean he would simply let Kyle go if he found him. If he could just get out of the immediate area until they were all gone…

His foot hit a couple of metal beer steins someone had left behind the tavern and they fell over, clattering against each other loudly. The pirates looked over at him.

“Oy! Who’s there?” Merlyn demanded.

Kyle considered running, but just because he’d been seen didn’t mean he’d be identified. He stepped fully into view, shifting the waistband of his trousers as if he’d just finished buttoning them. “Hello there,” he said with a nod. “Just answering nature’s call. Don’t mind me.” It stank enough of urine behind the tavern that it was a believable excuse.

“Talks like a toff. You think he’s one of Queen’s, Captain?” one of the pirates muttered.

Merlyn frowned at him. “What’s your ship?” he asked.

“The _Lady Alanna_ ,” Kyle said, naming a ship he’d swam past in the harbor.

But Merlyn was squinting at the gold braid on Kyle’s trousers, at the embossed stamp on his boots. “Bugger that. You’re Royal Navy, ain’t you?” His eyebrows shot up in realization, and then, slowly, he smirked. “You’re _Kyle Rayner_ , ain’t you?”

Kyle bolted.

“After him!” he heard Merlyn shout behind him, and heard footsteps pounding on the packed dirt. He squeezed through the narrow opening between the tavern and the neighboring structure, into the open thoroughfare, the only real street in the village, crowded with sailors. Maybe he could slow the pursuit through the crowd and then double back behind the buildings, maybe…

And then they were in front of the harbor and there was the crew of the _Green Arrow_ , there were Harper and Queen and Fyers and _Connor_ , looking at him in shock as he tore past. “ _Kyle?_ ”

There was no time to be startled by Connor’s use of his Christian name, because Kyle suddenly felt a hand grab him, and he stumbled, jerking away, and hit the ground. He kicked out, rolled, scrabbled backwards on his hands and knees, trying to get out of reach long enough to get to up and take to his heels again, but Merlyn and one of his men grabbed him and he couldn’t break away.

“All right, Rayner,” Merlyn hissed, grinning wickedly at him. “On your feet, laddie buck. You’ve got an appointment with the king.”

There was the sudden click of a revolver. Merlyn froze as the muzzle of Queen’s revolver pressed against his temple.

“Hands off, Merlyn,” Queen said. Beside him, Connor and Fyers had their pistols trained on Kyle’s other captor, while Harper covered the third. “The boy’s under my protection.”

[](http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v237/poisonivory2/chapter9.jpg)  
_“The boy’s under my protection.”_

Merlyn released Kyle, holding his hands up to show he had done so, and Queen let him back away, still pressing his pistol to Merlyn’s head. The other pirate released Kyle as well, backing up to stand beside his cohort, and Kyle got to his feet.

“It’d serve you better to hand him over now,” Merlyn said, trying to keep a hold of his bravado. “You’ve taken what’s Sinestro’s one too many times, Queen. The king’s out for your blood, but he might be merciful if you give this last one back.”

Queen laughed, a short, barking sound. “Sinestro’s smart enough to know that threats don’t work on me. I figured his captains were, too, but I guess I was wrong. Then again, you never struck me as particularly bright.”

Kyle watched, confused, wishing he had a weapon. He couldn’t figure out why Merlyn was abandoning the plan to have Kyle lure Queen unawares into Sinestro’s clutches, then realized that Merlyn was probably afraid Kyle would warn Queen. It was clear enough that Queen paid no allegiance to Sinestro.

Merlyn spat. “I’ll see you gutted someday, Queen.”

“So many have said, and yet I sail on,” Queen replied. “And you’re not really in a position to talk of killing when you’re the one in danger of having his skull ventilated. I ought to shoot you right now.”

“Captain – ” Connor started.

“Don’t worry, Connor,” Queen replied without looking up. “I’m not going to kill him. Not now, at least. Captain Merlyn’s going to carry a message for me.” He grabbed Merlyn’s collar, twisting it tight enough that it had to be painful, and hauled him close. “Listen well, you stinking piece of refuse. I’ve been stopping filth like you for fifteen years, and if I only _inconvenienced_ Sinestro, if I only stopped him from filling his coffers with the possessions of others, it was enough for me.

“But now he’s gone after my boy. He’s out for my blood? Well, now I’m out for his. And you can tell him from me that if he goes near one of my sons again – or anyone who sails on the _Green Arrow_ – I won’t rest until his so-called kingdom is in ruins and his corpse is at the bottom of the sea.”

He shoved Merlyn away from him. “Now get the hell out of my sight. Connor, bring Admiral Nelson with you. We’re sailing, _now_.”

Connor looked at Kyle, jerking his head for Kyle to follow him. He didn’t look pleased, but Kyle had hardly expected that he would. Merlyn stood rubbing his throat and glaring at Queen, his men beside him, but Queen, with an impudent show of unconcern, turned on his heel and strode off towards the harbor. Harper and Fyers followed him, and Connor and Kyle brought up the rear.

Inwardly, Kyle bewailed his bad luck. Five minutes ago he had been free, and now here he was, being marched back to his prison. If only he hadn’t stopped behind the tavern – ! On the other hand, he wouldn’t have known about the Starheart if he hadn’t overheard Merlyn talking about it. He glanced over his shoulder at Merlyn – 

– and saw him with his pistol drawn, taking aim at Connor.

“Down!” Kyle shouted, shoving Connor to the ground and following him, grabbing the sleeve of the nearest man – who happened to be Queen – to jerk him downwards too. The crack of a gunshot rang out and Kyle felt something hot sear across his arm.

Queen swore, and as Connor shoved Kyle off of him Kyle turned to see Queen draw his own weapon and shoot the gun out of Merlyn’s hand. Kyle stared, dumbfounded as three more shots rang out, one very close; both of Merlyn’s men fell, bullet holes between their eyes, as Merlyn dropped, clutching his shoulder.

Harper looked over at Connor, who was still on the ground, smoking pistol still aimed at Merlyn. “You didn’t kill him?”

Connor shrugged. “Dad said he wanted him alive.”

“That I did,” Queen said. “A little bit less now, but that’s all right.” He walked over to Merlyn, who was writhing on the ground in agony. “If you don’t bleed to death before you see your master, remember my message.”

Harper reached out and held out a hand to Connor, who took it and stood up. Kyle, however, was staring at Fyers, who hadn’t even taken his gun out of its holster. He’d been that sure he wouldn’t be needed.

“How did you learn to shoot like that?” Kyle asked Harper and Connor, getting to his feet. For some reasoning using his hands to lever himself up hurt, but he was too baffled by the display of marksmanship he’d just seen to figure out why.

They glanced at each other, biting back smiles; then Harper shrugged. “Runs in the family. Thanks for the warning, by the way. If you hadn’t – hey, did you know you’re bleeding?”

Kyle frowned and looked down at his arm – then staggered, the motion of his head making him suddenly dizzy. He couldn’t understand why one sleeve of his shirt was crimson; that was the militia, Kyle was Navy, his sleeves should be blue, and why was his hand all wet?

“Ky – Captain Rayner!” Connor grabbed him, steadied him. “We’d better get him to the sick bay,” he said to Harper.

Kyle tried to speak, to tell Connor that it was all right to use his Christian name, that he liked it when Connor used his Christian name, but his arm was starting to hurt rather badly for some reason, and the world was swimming before him. He felt himself being guided towards the _Green Arrow_ and tried to resist, because he didn’t want to go there, he didn’t want to be on Oliver Queen’s ship, but his tongue and his legs wouldn’t mind him and his vision was going black around the edges and before he could quite remember _why_ he didn’t want to be on the _Green Arrow_ , his world was drowned in blackness and he knew no more.


	10. Chapter 10

Kyle awoke confused. He could feel a ship swaying under him, but something about his bed didn’t feel like _his_ bed. When he opened his eyes, his confusion was only compounded; he was in a captain’s cabin, but not his own. There was a longbow hanging on the wall, several books of philosophy lined up on the nearby desk, and a number of Oriental and what Kyle thought might be Native American curiosities scattered about and hanging from the ceiling. When he turned his head, he could see a battered copy of _The Ballads of Robin Hood_ beside him.

He tried to sit up and bit back a cry as putting weight on his arm caused pain to shoot through it. He was shirtless, he noticed now, and there was a thick white bandage around his left bicep.

In a flash he remembered: escaping from the _Green Arrow_ , fleeing from Merlyn, pushing Connor out of the way…Merlyn must have shot him. He was only lucky it had been Merlyn on the other end of the gun and not Queen; he would not have gotten hit in the _arm_ if that deadly aim had been turned on him.

This must be Queen’s cabin, then. Carefully this time, so as to protect his arm, Kyle levered himself into a sitting position. He waited a moment for the dizziness to pass, then climbed out of bed.

It was lucky that the desk was so close, because he wasn’t quite ready to walk yet; his knees shook beneath him and he clutched at the desk, leaning his weight on it, though it sent pain shooting through his arm again. There was a map spread across the desk, and Kyle squinted down at it, trying to make sense of it. It was clearly the Oriental coast. Many small islands were marked, but not – Kyle had to bend until his nose nearly touched the parchment to make sure – Desolation. He wondered where they were now in relation to it.

The door opened and Connor came in. “Oh, you’re up!” he said, smiling – a smile which quickly gave way to a frown as he took a closer look at Kyle. “You shouldn’t be out of bed yet,” he said, hurrying to Kyle’s side. “Look at you, you’re white as a sheet.”

Kyle wanted to protest, but the deck was pitching under his feet with such violence he suspected the waves weren’t the sole cause of it. He let Connor support him the two steps back to the bed, and collapsed into it, leaning against the back wall so that he could at least be sitting up for this. Connor handed him a mug of water from beside the bed, obviously left there in case Kyle woke up, and Kyle drank until his stomach protested. He pushed the mug back into Connor’s hands, and Connor set it aside.

“How’s your arm?” Connor asked, picking up Kyle’s arm and examining the edges of the bandage. His fingers were callused, as all sailors’ were, but his touch was gentle, and, Kyle was acutely aware, warm.

“It’s fine, I think,” Kyle said. “Did the bullet go in?”

Connor shook his head. “No, but it took a good piece of you with it, and you bled a great deal before we could get you to the ship. We would have taken you to the hospital on the island, but they’ve got a few nasty diseases in there right now and we thought it best you not go in there with an open wound. Now that the bleeding’s stopped you’re sure to be fine, though; you slept for a day, which should help.”

“Why am I in Queen’s cabin?” Kyle asked. “I take it this isn’t Radu’s.”

Connor didn’t laugh out loud, but his eyes were amused. “No, no, it’s Dad’s. We didn’t want to leave you in a hammock in your state, and all the other cabins are full up with storage.”

“You didn’t tie me to the bed,” Kyle pointed out, raising an eyebrow.

They both realized then that Connor was still holding Kyle’s arm, his thumb stroking idly back and forth along the edge of the bandage. He let go, blushing, and stood up.

“Well. You didn’t seem in any fit state to climb out of bed and slit our throats in the dead of night,” Connor said. “Or swim for shore again.” There was an awkward pause. Kyle felt almost as if he should apologize for trying to escape, but of course he wasn’t about to do that.

“Anyway, you must be ravenous,” Connor said, covering up the silence. “I’ll see if Radu has anything for you in the galley.” He headed for the door of the cabin, then paused. “You probably saved my life,” he said, eyes soft. “Thank you.”

Kyle shrugged, then winced as the movement sent pain shooting down his arm. “I still owe you one,” he pointed out. Connor just smiled, shook his head, and was gone.

Kyle spent the next two days confined to the captain’s cabin, resting up from his bloodletting. Mia came to visit him, and Harper, and Connor checked on him frequently to see if he needed anything, but they all had duties on the ship and couldn’t spend too much time in the makeshift sick bay. Kyle was unused to not working, and he found it deadly dull. He read _The Ballads of Robin Hood_ , some of which he remembered enjoying in childhood, some of which were new to him, and he even opened some of the philosophy books on Queen’s desk. They all seemed quite heretical.

Finally he was pronounced well enough to go up on deck. He assured Connor that he was fine on his own, that Connor should go about his duties, and then stood for a long moment looking out to sea, simply breathing in the fresh air, feeling the spray on his face, enjoying the sun on his back and the sight of the waves breaking against the prow of the ship. He’d missed all that. Being cooped up inside the ship had almost been worse than being stranded on land for too long.

He felt a presence at his side and looked over. Queen was standing beside him, looking out at the sea.

“There’s nothing like it, is there?” he asked.

“No, sir,” Kyle said, hiding his surprise. Queen had never spoken to him conversationally before.

“I spent six months in New Mexico Territory once,” Queen said. “I thought I’d die, that far from the coast. The sea…it gets into your blood.”

Kyle was silent, unsure of what to say. Queen turned and leaned his back against the rail, arms folded.

“So what did someone as young as you do to draw the attention of the pirate king?” he asked.

Kyle raised an eyebrow. Surely Queen was testing him. Well, Kyle was not about to give anything away. “I’d gotten the impression he’d told all of his captains,” he said. “It certainly seems to be common knowledge everywhere I go.”

Queen snorted. “Don’t insult me, boy. I’m none of Sinestro’s.”

Kyle knew this, but he figured playing dumb was his safest option. Whether Queen had his sights set on the Starheart or not, there was no reason to tell him the truth. “I’ve done nothing,” he said. “I can only imagine Sinestro’s mistaken me for someone else.”

Queen didn’t believe him, that much was clear. Still, he let the matter drop. “I’ve business in these parts for the next few months, but we’ll be making for Bombay at the end of it,” he said. “If you happen to disembark and find yourself aboard a British ship, I’m sure they’ll be happy to take you home.”

Kyle stared at him. Queen didn’t insult him by pretending not to know why.

“You saved my boy,” he said.

“He saved me,” Kyle said.

And that was that.

The weeks passed, blending into each other after a while. Kyle was more of a regular member of the crew now, taking on his share of duties like everyone else rather than performing whatever menial punishment Queen could devise for him. He supposed he should have resented being forced to work like a common deckhand, but he hated being idle, and he didn’t expect to be asked to _captain_ the ship. Besides, it hadn’t been that long since he’d been a common deckhand himself.

They worked their way down the island chain, delivering medicine to each one. And it did appear to be simple delivery, not barter. Occasionally the locals would press Queen to take fruit or crafts or their own remedies, which Queen swore worked just as well as England-devised medicine, albeit for different ailments, but it was always clearly as a gift, not payment, and never anywhere near the value of the medicine.

They also didn’t waylay any merchant ships, which was odd. Waylaying merchant ships was sort of the whole essence of being a pirate, as Kyle understood it. At one point they fired upon a ship passing too close under the flag of the yellow Jolly Roger, but the pirates fled and Queen was more concerned about finishing the deliveries down the island chain than giving chase, as there seemed to be a particularly virulent strain of the pox in the region.

That done, they sailed south, and stayed three days at their next port. True to Harper’s word, Kyle didn’t see Queen the entire time, but he had no particular desire to; he was content to browse the local market with Connor, trying food he couldn’t pronounce the names of, stumbling through conversations in broken English and trying to learn a few phrases in the local dialect. Somehow hearing Connor laugh at his accent only made him smile.

They sailed on, though Queen kept looking back at the island with a soppy smile on his face. The weeks blended into months; Kyle had lost all track of where they were or how long he’d been at sea. Twice they fought pirate ships, one of which they sank, one of which they boarded and stripped of its stolen goods, and Kyle was happy to take part in the battles, to send these murderous vultures to the bottom of the sea.

Once they went after a British merchant ship, and Kyle shut himself in Queen’s cabin, unable to take part, unable to warn the British and betray Queen and Connor, who had shown him mercy, and unable most of all to watch.

When the battle was over and they were sailing away, someone knocked on the door of the cabin. Kyle opened it reluctantly.

It was Connor, flushed and dirty, a bruise starting to show on his cheekbone and a shallow cut high on his forehead. “Can I come in?”

Kyle moved away from the door, folded his arms, and waited.

“We didn’t sink her,” Connor said. “I thought you’d like to know.”

Kyle didn’t say anything.

“She was carrying opium,” Connor said. “We only…we don’t go after normal merchants. Just the opium ships.”

“Someone on board’s trying to write _Kubla Khan_ , are they?” Kyle asked.

“No!” Connor said, sounding scandalized. “We dump the opium overboard. It’s…you know the British are forcing it on the Chinese, don’t you? That’s what the war is about, and the last one with China. They’re trying to build a nation of addicts, so they can pay for all the goods they want to import and still have gold left over.”

This rhetoric wasn’t new to Kyle; certainly there were those back in England who opposed the war on the same grounds. Kyle himself was no fan of the opium trade, and was grateful that he hadn’t been sent to enforce it thus far. Still, it didn’t justify piracy and murder. Not to mention that his natural inclination to forgive Connor anything alarmed him. “What business is it of yours?”

“It’s everyone’s business!” Connor protested. “It’s a horrible drug. It saps your will, it turns you into nothing but a drooling, pathetic waste of a man, lost in dreams. Roy says he had nightmares, hallucinations…”

Kyle was momentarily startled out of his hostility. “Roy…?”

“He had…a problem with it,” Connor said, looking as if he’d said more than he’d meant to. “He still has trouble sleeping sometimes. It…Dad blames himself, and that’s part of why he…” He sighed. “But it’s mainly that it’s wrong.”

“And that justifies killing innocent sailors?” Kyle asked.

“We try not to.” Connor looked uncomfortable. “We get close enough to board, and we dump the cargo. We only shoot to wound, and we fire the cannons as little as possible.”

“But people still die,” Kyle said.

Connor was silent.

“Why are you telling me this?” Kyle asked.

“I just…I…” Connor sighed. “I don’t know. I didn’t want to lose your good opinion, I suppose. Of all of us,” he added hastily.

“I don’t know what my opinion of you is.” Kyle didn’t bother to pretend he meant the whole crew.

Connor looked at the floor. “Oh.”

There didn’t seem to be anything to say after that.

Other than that, life aboard the _Green Arrow_ was far from unpleasant. Sometimes Kyle caught himself thinking that if he hadn’t been promised release when they reached Bombay, he would have been reasonably content to stay aboard the _Green Arrow_ as a member of her crew. He always stopped the thought quickly; he was no pirate!

Some nights Harper would play the guitar and sing, accompanied by the fife-player, snatches of songs requested by the men. Mia would spring up to dance, pulling Queen or a grumbling Fyers or even Kyle with her, though even her wiles could not prevail upon Connor to join her. Kyle always found himself missing Gardner and Jenny and his mother most on these nights, when everything was so joyful, and so different from proper, straight-backed tea at Admiral Scott’s; he thought they might like it. Then he’d remember how long it had been since he’d thought of Jenny, and guiltily push her memory away again.

It was after one such night that Kyle lingered in the night air before going belowdecks to his hammock. The music was still in his blood, and he knew he wouldn’t sleep for some time. Connor, too, was just standing holding a lantern and watching the others go down.

“Not going to bed?” Kyle asked.

Connor shook his head. “I’ve got watch.”

“I’ll keep you company,” Kyle said. “I’m not the least bit sleepy. That is, if you don’t mind.”

Connor’s mouth curled up, a faint smile. “I’d like that.”

They perched on barrels by the starboard rail, rather than sit on the rail itself and risk growing drowsy and tumbling into the sea. The lantern, somewhere below Connor’s feet, cast a warm upward glow, but it was hardly necessary – the moon was nearing the full, and the stars were out in force. Kyle could trace Connor’s features easily – the soft shadowed dip below his mouth, the green of his eyes.

Connor seemed to catch Kyle staring, and Kyle hastily craned his neck back to look at the stars.

“The constellations are so different back home,” he said.

“You must miss it terribly,” Connor said, and something in his voice made Kyle look back down at him. He looked…guilty, Kyle thought.

“Not…not _too_ terribly,” Kyle admitted. “After all, I’ve been away this long before. It comes with being a sailor, doesn’t it? Months, even years, away from home? Sometimes I think I should miss home _more_ than I do.” He tried to smile, but it was a little too true to be funny. “I do worry about my mother, though. I’m sure she’s taking care of herself, but…I’m afraid she gets lonely.”

Connor’s smile was rueful. “My mother has the opposite problem. She is never lonely, and she is not very good at taking care of herself.”

Kyle tried not to show his surprise; Connor had never spoken about his mother before. “Where…where does she live?” _Where are you from?_ he meant.

“Korea,” Connor said. “That’s my home. Well, it’s where I was raised,” he said. “Dad says that home is where you kick off your boots, and if you’re lucky you’ve people there who’ll help you kick them off when you can’t do it yourself.”

“What do _you_ say?” Kyle asked.

Connor frowned. “I don’t know. I suppose…I suppose home is where…where you can be yourself. Or…or try to figure out what that entails, at least. And the people there don’t have to help you, and they don’t have to like it, but whatever it is, they let you be it. Does that make sense?”

Kyle nodded. “At least as much as something pithy about boots,” he said, and Connor laughed. “If you’ve a Korean mother and an English father, how do you come by your accent?” he asked. “It sounds American to me.”

“My grandfather was American,” Connor said. “He wanted to sail, and so he found a man who was sailing for the Orient and was so desperate for a crew that he didn’t care that my grandfather was black. They barely made it to Korea, and the man who owned the ship died soon after, stranding my grandfather there, but by then he’d already fallen in love with my grandmother, so he didn’t mind.” There was that rueful smile again. “He was about the only one who didn’t. Her family wasn’t very happy when she got pregnant and they had to let her get married. And my grandparents weren’t very happy when their daughter took up with an English captain who was trying to open a trade route, especially when _she_ got pregnant.”

He shrugged. “I don’t blame Dad. He didn’t know until he came back a few years ago and decided to look up my mother, just for old time’s sake. With my hair and eyes, it wasn’t really hard to figure out. I didn’t…I didn’t really look like anyone back home.”

Kyle realized then the extent of what Connor had meant when he’d thrown Kyle’s complaints about his own isolation in his face. Connor didn’t fit in with Easterners _or_ Westerners. At least Kyle _looked_ like his fellow Englishmen.

Something inside him that wasn’t guilt or even sympathy ached for Connor, for the downward turn of his mouth and his closed-off posture. “I thought home was where you could be yourself?” he asked, poking Connor’s ankle with his foot. Connor looked up, startled, and then, seeing the playful lift of Kyle’s eyebrows, smiled a little, conceding.

“I did say that, didn’t I?” he asked. He drew his legs up onto the barrel, Eastern-style. “I don’t mean to complain. I love my grandparents, and my mother…and I have a father here, and a brother, and Mia’s like a sister. And Eddie’s like…”

“…the drunk of an uncle you all hope won’t show up during Christmas?” Kyle asked.

Connor laughed. “Something like that. I’m really very lucky, you know.”

“I know,” Kyle said, and looked off to sea. “I suppose I shouldn’t tell you this, of all people, but…you know, I really think I shall miss the _Green Arrow_ when I leave her?”

“I didn’t think Roy’s singing was _that_ good,” Connor teased.

“Oh, it’s not,” Kyle said with a grin. “Not by a long shot. But I…I do like the camaraderie. I shall miss the informality of dress sorely when I’m back in that stiff, full uniform, believe me.” He plucked at the fraying, ratty sleeve of his shirt to demonstrate, then turned his grin on Connor. “I shall miss my keeper.”

Connor waved that away. “I’m hardly your keeper at this point, Captain Rayner.”

“You know, I’m not captain of this ship,” Kyle pointed out. “I haven’t been captain of _any_ ship for months. You can just call me Rayner.” He paused, smile fading. “Or…you can just call me Kyle.”

Connor stared at him, eyes wide and luminescent in the darkness. Kyle understood his confusion; they might have saved one another’s lives, but their relationship was still strange, strange enough that using Christian names like boon companions felt somehow heavy with significance. “All right,” Connor said. “I…the _Green Arrow_ shall miss you in return, Kyle.”

His name sounded different when Connor said it; better, somehow. “The _Green Arrow_?” he asked, leaning forward – maybe to hear Connor, who was suddenly speaking very softly.

Or maybe it was just that Kyle’s heart was suddenly beating very loudly.

“I.” Connor looked down. “I shall miss you.”

“Connor.” Kyle wanted Connor to look at him. He reached out, titled Connor’s chin back up. Connor’s skin was warm and soft, with a faint rasp of end-of-day stubble, and the moonlight seemed to have been crafted for no other purpose than to illuminate how beautiful he was. “I…”

“Yes,” Connor said, in answer to a question Kyle hadn’t known he was asking.

And Kyle leaned forward, closing the gap between them, and kissed him.

[](http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v237/poisonivory2/chapter10.jpg)  
_...Kyle leaned forward, closing the gap between them, and kissed him._

Connor froze, like a small animal under the gaze of a hawk, and drew in a ragged breath through his nose. The sound of it brought home to Kyle what he was doing, and he jerked back, almost toppling off of his barrel.

Connor was staring at him, lips parted, eyes wide and stunned.

“Oh God, I’m sorry,” Kyle said, the words tumbling out of him as he held his hands up in either defense or atonement, he wasn’t sure. “I’m so sorry, I don’t know what I just…that was completely uncalled for, I know, I shouldn’t have…I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

He stood up, backing away from Connor, still with his arms held out, as if Connor might suddenly leap to his feet and stab him. Perhaps he might; perhaps he was even now gathering himself to do it, though he hadn’t moved since Kyle had pulled away, save to track Kyle’s movements with his eyes.

“Sorry,” Kyle said one last time, and then, though naval officers were supposed to be fearless, he turned and fled into the darkness and relative safety of the hold.

Once inside, he remembered that the ship was full of sleeping men – and one sleeping girl – and they probably wouldn’t appreciate him running about in boots. He crept towards his hammock as silently as he could, surprised that no one was woken by the hammering of his heart. Shedding his boots and stowing them, he climbed into the hammock.

Of course, once there he had nothing to do but stare at the ceiling and wonder what, precisely, was wrong with him.

He’d kissed a man. He’d kissed a deadly, highly capable man who was probably more than a match for Kyle, especially unarmed, and whose father was a well-known murderer with a ship full of loyal killers. He’d kissed a pirate and a criminal, an enemy of the crown he’d sworn his allegiance to. And he’d kissed someone who was most assuredly not his fiancée.

Kyle squeezed his eyes shut and tried to sort out his rushing thoughts. He didn’t think he had anything to fear from Queen or the rest of the crew. Connor guarded his privacy very closely; Kyle couldn’t imagine him running to Queen with the news, especially since he was a grown man whose honor was in no need of defending.

And he couldn’t quite see Connor taking a violent revenge on him, either. Despite the way he made his living, Connor was not a vengeful man. He might never speak to Kyle again – something twisted inside of Kyle at the thought – but he wouldn’t come to blows over it.

But Connor _was_ a pirate, Kyle reminded himself. Even if he was the kind of pirate who saved the lives of British sailors rather than see them executed; who only stole from other pirates and distributed the stolen goods among the poor; who fought honest merchant ships only to fight an oppressive drug trade. Kyle tried not to think about Connor’s morals if he could help it, or Queen’s for that matter; every time he did he found less to fault them with, and he worried that if he stayed on the _Green Arrow_ much longer he would be no better than they were. That didn’t change the fact that Kyle’s kiss, quite aside from all the other problems with it, was tantamount to treason.

As for Jenny...the guilt and anxiety inside Kyle twisted further. There was no excuse. No matter that he hadn’t seen her in months and that she surely thought him dead. No matter that their engagement wasn’t official, or even public, or that he’d given her no ring. No matter that it had been the briefest of kisses, and that Connor was a man. Kyle had made a promise to Jenny when he’d asked her to marry him, and he’d broken that promise tonight. Never again, he swore. If he couldn’t stay faithful to Jenny, he didn’t deserve her friendship, let alone her hand in marriage.

Never again? Kyle caught himself. Surely there was no need to make a solemn vow about it. It was a fluke, a trick of the moonlight and months and months of cabin fever aboard the strangest ship he’d ever encountered.

…But then, he couldn’t deny having wanted to kiss a man before. Not often, but there had been boys at school he’d had clandestine thoughts about, and some in the Navy. He’d never acted on it; there’d been girls enough to direct his attention into safer and equally intriguing channels, and most of all there’d been Jenny.

But Connor wasn’t like any of the boys he’d known before. He wasn’t like _anyone_ Kyle had known before.

Kyle managed at the last minute to keep himself from groaning aloud in sheer frustration. This was pointless. Kyle had overstepped all possible bounds of friendship and propriety tonight, and betrayed his own morals, gaining nothing but the certain enmity of his closest companion on this ship – a ship he would soon be leaving forever, at any rate. No. What had happened tonight would never happen again.

No matter how much Kyle wanted it to.


	11. Chapter 11

Desolation was rocking.

Jenny knew, intellectually, that that wasn’t so; it only _felt_ like the island beneath her was rocking because she’d spent so many months on a rocking ship. She stretched her legs out in front of her, burying her bare feet in the warm sand, and marveled at how brown her ankles and feet were. It was courtesy of frequently going barefoot on the _Warrior_ , as were the calluses on the soles of her feet; her arms were even browner, her face freckled, her hair lightened by the sun. She was stronger now, fearless in climbing the rigging, able to swab decks and peel potatoes and tie knots, and Captain Gardner had even taught her how to shoot a gun – “just in case,” he said.

She looked over at Cissie, lying in the sand beside her, who had taken to shooting lessons like a duck to water. Cissie was just as tanned and freckled and roughened by work and the sun and the sea as Jenny, but she had changed in a less obvious way, too. She seemed less frustrated, less helplessly angry than she had been when they’d met. This life seemed to agree with her.

It agreed with Jenny too, quite frankly. The work helped her to forget both her worry and her guilt over Kyle, and her worry and her guilt over what she’d done to her father and brother and Aunt Abigail by disappearing like she had.

They were waiting for Captain Gardner to return from meeting with Captain Stewart. Gardner had sailed straight for Desolation, since the Hall pigeon announcing Kyle’s capture had come from there; he planned on getting information about Kyle’s abduction from the witness, and on local pirate haunts from Stewart. The _Warrior_ was anchored just offshore; Gardner, whose bark was much worse than his bite, had allowed Jenny and Cissie to join the party going ashore in the boat. The burly, tigerish Farr brothers, who had done the rowing, had wandered off to look for friends in Stewart’s crew, but Jenny and Cissie, disinclined to spend their time ashore explaining the presence of two young ladies in Captain Gardner’s crew, had remained on the beach.

Cissie frowned, eyes closed against the sun. “I feel sick,” she said, and sat up. “I’m never going to get my land legs back lying here. Want to go for a walk?”

“All right.” Jenny stood, dusting sand off of her rear in a most unladylike way. “Let’s walk across to that jetty. We should still be able to hear if Captain Gardner calls for us.”

They made their way across the sand, leaving their boots behind. Seabirds wheeled and called above them, and the scent of strange flowers drifted by on the breeze.

“Desolation seems like a poor choice of names for such a lovely place,” Cissie remarked as she climbed onto the first rock of the jetty.

Jenny rolled her eyes. “Try telling that to the Lord Guardians,” she said. “There is nothing here to make them a profit. That leaves them desolate indeed.” She turned to squint back at the island, a riot of colorful flora, then followed Cissie further out onto the jetty.

They went slowly, picking their way across the wet, slippery rocks. Because of the way both the shore and the jetty curved, the _Warrior_ was soon out of sight.

“What’s that?” Cissie asked suddenly, pointing.

Another ship was sailing towards the island. Jenny frowned. No one ever came to Desolation; why would another ship be approaching?

Just as she thought that, she noticed two more ships, one further out to sea, one coming around the curve of the island. Why would _three_ ships be approaching?

The wind picked up, making the leading ship’s flag snap and reveal itself: the yellow Jolly Roger.

[](http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v237/poisonivory2/chapter11.jpg)  
_...the yellow Jolly Roger._

Jenny’s heart dropped into her stomach.

“We need to warn Captain Gardner,” she said.

Cissie didn’t argue. They turned and picked their way back across the jetty, as quickly as they could without slipping and cracking their skulls open on the rocks; then they bolted across the beach, the sand slowing them down and tiring them far too quickly.

As they rounded the curve of the island they could see three figures walking down from the island’s headquarters. One was easily identifiable as Captain Gardner, even at this distant, by his flaming hair.

“ _Captain Gardner!_ ” Jenny called, lungs burning. “ _Pirates!_ ”

Gardner quickened his pace, trotting towards them. Jenny could make out the faces of the two – a boy no older than Cissie, and another captain. He was black, but Jenny had no time to be surprised by that, not when they were clearly under attack.

“Pirate ships…three of them…” she gasped, stumbling to a halt in front of Captain Gardner. “Coming around from the east…flying the yellow Jolly Roger.”

Gardner grinned, the bloodlust rising in his eyes. “Bringing the fight to me, are you, Sinestro? Let’s go, then.”

“Gardner, are you sure these…er…young ladies are telling the truth?” Captain Stewart asked, looking askance at them. The boy stood a bit behind him, staring at them with wide eyes.

“I don’t question my crew, and neither should you, Stewart,” Captain Gardner said, striding off towards the boat. Jenny and Cissie scurried after him, picking up their discarded boots as they went. “You’d best sound the alarm.”

“Now wait just a minute,” Captain Stewart snapped. “I’m in command here.”

“Sir, there really are three pirate ships coming,” Cissie said, using the ingratiating tone that never failed to get adults to do what she wanted. “Possibly more. We really must hurry.”

Captain Stewart looked hard at Cissie and Jenny, then scowled. “Go sound the alarm, Terry.”

The boy took off back the way they’d come. Gardner grinned.

“Don’t be such a stick-in-the-mud, Stewart,” he said. “We’re taking on the pirate king. That’ll be a story for your grandchildren.”

Stewart looked at him and raised an eyebrow. “That it will. All right, Gardner, ladies. Let’s go kill some pirates.”

* * *

Kyle avoided Connor the next day. Even on a relatively small ship, it wasn’t difficult; he suspected that Connor was avoiding him as well. Kyle knew he should probably apologize, but he didn’t know how, and if he was honest with himself he wasn’t eager to find out how much Connor despised him now.

By mid-afternoon, though, he’d about run out of things to occupy himself with, and avoiding Connor was getting more and more awkward. He was leaning on the port rail squinting at a spot on the horizon – an approaching ship, or just a trick of the light? – when he glanced down the rail and saw Connor watching him. They both hastily looked away.

Embarrassed, Kyle headed down into the hold. A drink of water would help steady him. He filled the dipper and drained it twice, then turned to leave the hold.

He should have learned by now that Connor didn’t make any noise when he walked.

“Hello, Kyle,” Connor said, voice soft and tentative. He was still using Kyle’s Christian name, which meant…what? That he still considered Kyle a friend?

“Hello.” Kyle coughed, despite the water he’d just drunk, and shoved his hands into his pockets. “Connor, I…I would like to apologize for last night. I overstepped my bounds and you have every right to be angry…”

Connor’s brow furrowed. “I’m not angry.”

Kyle felt the weight of his worry lighten immeasurably. “Oh! Well…that’s…that’s good. I’m glad.”

Connor just stared at him. Kyle shifted uncertainly. Connor didn’t seem to be about to demand reparation, so what did he want from Kyle?

“Did you…want some water?” Kyle asked, stepping away from the water cask.

Connor shook his head. “I wanted to talk to you.” He scratched the back of his neck. It was hard to tell in the darkness of the hold and with Connor’s complexion, but Kyle thought he was blushing. “I was just wondering…why?”

“Why I…?” Kyle asked, unwilling to say “kissed you,” and Connor nodded. Now Kyle _knew_ that _he_ was blushing. “I don’t know,” he said. “I suppose I was just taken with the moonlight, and the sea, and…you know, I do care for you, Connor. You’re my friend, as much as the Lord Guardians would be shocked to hear me say that,” he finished, trying to make a joke, trying to dispel the awkwardness.

But Connor didn’t smile. “You’re my friend, too,” he said, and put a hand on Kyle’s arm. His skin was warm and callused and Kyle’s heart sped up. “And I’m sorry I was rude.”

“In.” Kyle cleared his throat. “In what way?”

Connor took a step forward. “I didn’t kiss you back,” he said, and reached up, and pressed his lips to Kyle’s.

Kyle forgot his vow, forgot that they could be interrupted at any minute, forgot everything except how to grab onto Connor and pull him close and kiss him, fiercely, achingly. Connor’s lips were soft and he tasted of the stew they’d had for lunch and he smelled of salt and Kyle wanted to kiss him for at least the rest of his lifetime, maybe longer.

Connor made a small noise and curved into Kyle, strong hands tightening on Kyle’s arms. Kyle stroked his thumb over the line of Connor’s jaw, felt Connor shiver against him, and…

Someone drummed loudly on the deck above them. “ _Rayner!_ ” Queen bellowed from above. “ _Get your carcass up here now!_ ”

They sprang apart. Kyle stared at Connor, who gaped back at him, eyes wide, cheeks flushed.

“He’s not…” Kyle started.

“How could he…” Connor tried.

They stared a moment longer, then ran for the steps out of the hold, Kyle in front. It couldn’t be about the kiss, Kyle tried to assure himself as he emerged into the midday glare. There was no way Queen could know. And even if he did, he wasn’t going to shoot Kyle in the head for touching his son in front of the whole _crew_.

At least, Kyle hoped not.

But Queen, when Kyle found him at the port rail looking through a spyglass, didn’t look angry, just troubled. He handed the glass to Kyle. “You see that ship out there?” he asked, and pointed.

Kyle squinted. “Yes, sir.”

“She’s British,” Queen said. “Look through the glass and tell me whether I need to be getting out of here.”

Kyle held the spyglass up to his eye, incredibly aware of Connor’s presence at his elbow. Sure enough, the other ship was flying the Union Jack. And…

Kyle’s heart thudded. This could either be very good news for him, or very bad.

“It’s the _Parallax_ ,” he said, lowering the glass. “Captained by Commodore Jordan.”

Behind him, Harper swore.

“ _Harold_ Jordan?” Queen asked. His expression was oddly flat.

“Yes, sir,” Kyle said. “And it looks like he’s making straight for us.”

“Shall I have the men hoist the sails?” Harper asked. “The _Green Arrow’s_ faster than anything the Lion can put on the water.”

Queen glared. “Certainly not!” he said. “If dear old Hal wants to visit, let him come and talk.” He paused. “Load the cannons, though.”

“Captain Queen, I cannot permit you to fire upon that ship,” Kyle said quickly. “Commodore Jordan has been like a father to me, and…”

“Don’t worry your head about it, Admiral,” Queen said, gaze still locked on the approaching _Parallax_. “I won’t fire until he does. And Hal won’t shoot at _me_.”

Kyle frowned, letting Queen’s – and Harper’s – recent comments sink in. “Do you know Commodore Jordan?”

“Know him?” Queen’s voice had a sardonic tone that boded ill for Kyle’s mentor. “Why, Nelson, he’s my best friend.”

He wouldn’t say any more, nor would he budge from his spot. Kyle remained beside him as the _Parallax_ drew closer, as the crew bustled about behind them, ready to give his life to prevent Queen giving the order to fire. He saw Connor pass by several times out of the corner of his eye, going about his business on deck, and longed to talk to him, but for now that would have to wait.

As the _Parallax_ came within range, she ran up a white flag, and Kyle breathed a sigh of relief. Hopefully that meant there would be no bloodshed – but he knew how quickly white flags could come down, and he wasn’t sure how faithfully Queen upheld the rules of engagement anyway.

Finally the _Parallax_ drew up alongside the _Green Arrow_. Kyle didn’t wave, knowing how precarious his position was, but he couldn’t hold back a smile at the sight of Commodore Jordan. He hadn’t realized how much part of him was missing home until being confronted with a familiar face.

“Kyle! Are you all right?” Commodore Jordan called, blatantly disregarding Queen for the moment.

“Yes, Commodore!” he called back.

“Commodore, is it?” Queen asked. “You’ve moved up in the world, Hal.”

Commodore Jordan glared at him. “And you’ve moved down. Did you have a particular _reason_ for kidnapping an officer of Her Majesty’s Royal Navy, Ollie, or was it just to pass the time between murders and thefts?”

Kyle groaned inwardly. So much for the white flag.

“I’ll admit I’m not as busy as you,” Queen shot back. “It must take up an awful lot of your time, taking tea with the Queen and kissing the boots of those pompous, spineless would-be tyrants in Oan Hall!”

“Better a boot-kissing lackey than a pirate and a pestilence upon honest sailors!” Commodore Jordan shouted.

“Honest?!” Queen cried. “What’s _honest_ about bleeding dry every scrap of land you can steal from the natives who’ve lived there for generations, and shoving opium down the throats of those who won’t let Victoria take their goods and resources for free? Do you sleep well on sheets paid for in blood money?”

“Fine words from someone who slits throats for a living!” Jordan snapped.

“At least I slit the throats of those that can defend themselves!” Queen roared back, gripping the railing as if he wanted to climb up on it and fling himself at Jordan. “I don’t let my _masters_ tell me who to slaughter!”

“Oh, and I suppose it’s a coincidence that I’ve seen half a dozen ships flying the Yellow Roger and all headed for Desolation?” Jordan demanded. “Your king is rounding you up, Oliver.”

“That lobster-faced weasel’s no king of mine!” Queen spat, but Kyle was only half paying attention to the argument now. Queen and Connor weren’t bringing him to Desolation, so why would Sinestro be sending all of his men there? Did he have another way to get to the Starheart?

“You’ve seen Sinestro’s ships?” he asked, interrupting Queen’s tirade. Or trying to, at least, because neither Queen nor Jordan stopped screaming.

“…him here and I’ll show you I pay no more allegiance to that black-hearted sea serpent than I do to those wetbrained toads you call lords!”

“Don’t talk to _me_ about your allegiance, you traitorous son of a – ”

“ _Gentlemen!_ ” Kyle bellowed. Queen and Jordan stopped to look at him. “At the risk of derailing this extremely productive discussion…Commodore, you said you’ve seen pirate ships heading for Desolation? Many of them?”

Jordan nodded. “At least seven.”

Kyle turned to Queen. “Sir, I know we agreed that you would release me in Bombay, but I need to go aboard Commodore Jordan’s ship now. We’re needed in Desolation.”

“He did?” Jordan repeated, startled.

“You forget yourself, Rayner,” Queen said. “I am beholden to you and will stand by my promise to release you, but I’m not going to just hand you over to this pompous windbag on your say-so.”

“Who are you calling a pompous – ”

“ _Gentlemen!_ ” Kyle snapped before the fight could resume. “This isn’t an idle whim of mine, Captain. It’s a matter of life and death.”

Queen folded his arms over his chest. “Why?”

“I’d like to know that too, actually,” Jordan said.

Kyle paused. He had planned to tell Jordan of Sinestro’s goal once aboard the _Parallax_ , but did he really want to tell Queen about the Starheart? After all, Merlyn had seemed convinced that Queen would want the Starheart for himself, and he had known Queen longer than Kyle had.

But then, he’d never seen a hint of ambition from Queen. And Queen’s cooperation might be vital.

Kyle glanced around. The crews of both ships were blatantly listening to the conversation, Connor at Kyle’s elbow, Harper and Mia at Queen’s. Oh, well. He supposed there was nothing for it, and they had the right to know what they were fighting for.

“The Lord Guardians sent me to fetch the Starheart,” he began.

A laugh arose from both crews, and Kyle winced. He probably should have expected that.

Queen and Jordan, thankfully, just looked skeptical. Queen snorted. “I knew those old bats were senile,” he said. “You, clearly, are simply insane.”

“Look, I don’t know if the Starheart’s at Desolation or if it even exists,” Kyle said. “But Sinestro believes it does. I overheard Merlyn say so. He thought you were bringing me there to get the Starheart for you, at which point all of Sinestro’s ships would ambush you.”

“Well, thank you for the warning,” Queen said, tipping his hat sardonically. “I shall do my best to stay clear of Desolation. It shouldn’t be too hard.”

“That’s fine, but let me go with Commodore Jordan to help Captain Stewart defend the island,” Kyle protested. “He can’t have a large encampment there. He’ll be overrun.”

“Gardner, too,” Jordan interjected. “He set out to rescue you, Kyle. I was ordered to bring him back. I’m sure he made for Desolation to get his bearings and find out what he could of your abduction; that’s where I was headed as well.” He paused. “Miss Scott is aboard the _Warrior_.”

Kyle’s blood ran cold. Jenny and Gardner at the mercy of the entire pirate kingdom? He turned to Queen, a new desperation in his voice. “ _Please_ , Captain Queen. You have no need to keep me here, and the people I love best in the world are in danger.”

“Let him go, Dad,” Connor said, startling Kyle. “What good does it do to keep him here? You might as well send another able ship after Sinestro.”

“‘Dad’?” Jordan repeated, startled again.

Kyle looked at Connor, who avoided his gaze: Connor, who he’d been kissing not half an hour ago; Connor, who was lobbying for Kyle’s right to save his fiancée.

Queen frowned. “And what if the Starheart _is_ there? I don’t much like the idea of Sinestro _or_ Jordan getting his hands on it.”

“Then come with us!” Kyle said in desperation. “Help us fight Sinestro! This is a chance to rid the ocean of him and his ilk for good, and quite possibly a chance to protect the world from whatever cruelties Sinestro would inflict upon it with the Starheart. Surely you can see the good in that!”

“Kyle, don’t waste your breath,” Jordan said. “Oliver Queen looks out for himself, and himself alone.”

Queen’s jaw set. “Is that so?” he asked. “Roy, hoist anchor. We’re going to Desolation.”

Jordan stared, then shook his head. “Oh, no,” he said. “Not with Kyle still aboard. Send him over here, then we’ll head for Desolation together.”

“Not likely!” Queen shot back. “Rayner here is my guarantee that you won’t try to take _me_ in along with the rest of the pirates.”

“And where’s _my_ guarantee that you won’t turn on me?” Jordan demanded. “After all, you’re the one with the history of doing just that.”

Queen turned so red Kyle thought he was going to have an apoplectic fit right there on the deck. “ _How dare you?_ ” he hissed. “You know very well that – ”

“I’ll go.”

Everyone turned to stare at Connor, who looked back at his father steadily. “Commodore Jordan practically raised Captain Rayner. Roy and I are fair exchanges, and you need Roy to sail the ship. Kyle knows my duties and can carry them out in my stead.”

“I…no! Unacceptable!” Queen spluttered. “I’m not turning you – not turning _either_ of my sons over to that…that…tyrant-in-training!”

“Ollie, it’s _Hal_ ,” Harper said quietly.

“We don’t have time to argue about it, Dad,” Connor added. “There are lives in danger.” He turned to Jordan. “Will you take me as a hostage in exchange for Ky— for Captain Rayner?” he asked.

Jordan looked at Kyle, who nodded. “It’s a fair trade,” Kyle said. “And you can trust him. He’s…he’s my friend.”

“Excuse me, I did _not_ give permission for this – ” Queen protested, but Connor was already climbing up onto the railing, seizing a rope that trailed from the rigging.

“Sorry, Dad,” Connor said, and swung across to the deck of the _Parallax_.

Queen swore and kicked the bulwark. “I swear, Jordan, if anything happens to my son…”

“Just worry about keeping Kyle safe,” Jordan replied. “I’ll see you at Desolation.”

He turned and began to roar orders to his crew. Queen, not to be outdone, did the same. Kyle stayed at the railing, staring after Connor.

“Don’t worry,” Connor called over the rising sound of the two moving ships. “We’ll find her.”

And that just made everything worse.


	12. Chapter 12

Kyle had a feeling that he wasn’t Captain Queen’s favorite person at the moment, so he stayed well clear of him as they sailed to Desolation as fast as the wind could carry them, neck and neck with the _Parallax_. He tried to fill Connor’s role on the ship as best he could, but once he found himself with a moment to himself, he sought out Harper.

“Well, you’ve gotten us into a fair bit of trouble, haven’t you?” Harper asked. It wasn’t unfriendly, but there was a line of worry between his brows. Kyle supposed that was fair.

“It was not my intention, believe me,” Kyle said. “I never meant to endanger any of you. You needn’t worry about Connor, though. Commodore Jordan is an honorable man.”

“Oh, I know,” Harper said. “I knew him well when I was a boy.”

“Then Captain Queen and Commodore Jordan really were friends?” Kyle asked, trying to sound casual, as if this wasn’t the very reason he’d sought Harper out.

Harper raised an eyebrow, which Kyle should have expected. Harper was no fool. “They were the best of friends, for years before I knew Ollie. That was why…” He sighed and lowered his voice. “Ollie doesn’t talk about this much, not even to me, but as it concerns you now, I suppose you have a right to know.”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “Fifteen years ago, Ollie was a captain in Her Majesty’s Royal Navy.” Kyle bit back his surprise, not wanting to interrupt the story. “He was an exemplary captain, on track to be a commodore if not an admiral someday, but he really hated a lot of what the Lord Guardians made him do.”

Kyle thought back. Fifteen years ago would have been… “The first war with China,” he said, realization dawning.

Harper nodded. “Yes. I mean, there were a lot of other things, land claiming and uneven battles, but Ollie…he just couldn’t bring himself to fight the Chinese in order to sell them opiates. He thought it was wrong.”

Kyle was silent. He was afraid of agreeing.

“I wasn’t there that day, of course,” Harper went on. “I was just a boy. Ollie had me off at school. But Hal and Ollie were sent to take a village – a no-account little place, but in a strategic location.”

He leaned on the railing and looked out to see. “When they got there, they found one warship. One. At least twenty years old. And…fishing boats. Little coracles. _Rafts_ , practically. China has her share of military strength, but none of it was there that day. Just men and boys armed with whatever they had to hand.

“Hal was not as troubled as Ollie by the work the empire had them do, but he was not a monster, either. He could no more attack those people than Ollie could. But if they _didn’t_ attack, they would be declared traitors to the crown.

“So they made a pact.”

Harper paused, brow clouded. Kyle followed his gaze over to the _Parallax_.

“Ollie felt that he could no longer serve the Queen and the Lord Guardians. Hal could not betray his allegiance. So it was agreed that once the battle began, Ollie would fire a shot on Hal and then flee. Hal would return to the Lord Guardians and tell them that Ollie had turned traitor and attacked him, preventing him from taking the village. None of that would be a lie. Hal would take charge of my upbringing, and both men would work from opposite sides to prevent England – or any nation – from engaging in such tyranny again. From what I’ve seen, Hal hasn’t held up his end of the bargain.”

Kyle rankled on his mentor’s behalf. “From what I’ve seen, Queen hasn’t either,” he said.

Harper started to scowl, then stopped himself. “I don’t know. Maybe that’s fair,” he said. “I just know that Ollie can’t be pleased to see Hal again.”

“How did you end up here, if Queen became a pirate in China?” Kyle asked.

The troubled look faded from Harper’s face. “Ollie snuck back into England for supplies some months later. He came up to my school in the middle of the night and told me what had happened, and that he was leaving everything to me, and to be good for Hal. I asked him to take me with him and he refused; he said it was too dangerous, that I’d be throwing away my future.”

Harper grinned. “I told him that if he didn’t take me with him then, I would walk down to the docks the next day and apprentice myself as a cabin boy on the first ship I saw, and keep hopping ships until I found him. He relented after that.”

Kyle grinned back. It wasn’t hard to imagine Harper doing just that; besides, the idea of someone, particularly a ten-years-old-at-best someone, getting the better of Queen in a battle of wills was rather amusing.

Then his gaze caught the _Parallax_ , and his grin flickered and died. “You don’t suppose they’ll start shooting each other instead of the pirates, do you?”

Harper followed his line of sight. “I wish I could say no, but knowing these two…”

Kyle bit his lip. “We _must_ stop Sinestro. This is the only way we’ll have a chance. Any of us.”

“I know. Ollie does too, when he’s not shouting about his ideals and his pride.” Harper tried to grin at Kyle again, but the grin seemed dented, like it was snagged on an unhappy thought. “We’re more than a match for Sinestro. Don’t worry.”

Roy had as many loved ones caught up in this battle as Kyle did. Kyle tried to heed his advice, to think only of the task at hand and worry about the battle – and the aftermath – later. But every time he looked over at the _Parallax_ , his heart thudded painfully in his suddenly-tight chest, and he couldn’t help but feel that this battle, one way or another, would be the end of everything dear to him.

They were three days sailing to Desolation, and Kyle spent them all worrying. Was Jenny all right? Was Gardner? Would Jordan and Queen be able to maintain their uneasy truce?

And, irrationally, he worried about Connor. He was sure that Connor was fine aboard the _Parallax_ – perhaps a little uncomfortable, socially, but fine. But the memory of Connor’s lips was always present in Kyle’s mind, lurking just at the edges of his awareness, and the look in Connor’s eyes as he’d boarded Commodore Jordan’s ship. Once the hostages were traded back, he might never see Connor again, let alone speak with him in private. That was, if they both survived the coming battle.

Somehow, the thought of Connor’s death was far more frightening than the thought of his own.

On the third day they drew close enough to Desolation to see the plumes of smoke from cannonfire staining the sky, close enough to hear the shots.

[](http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v237/poisonivory2/chapter12.jpg)  
_On the third day they drew close enough to Desolation to see the plumes of smoke..._

“Good. The pirates are closest to this side,” Queen said, looking through the spyglass. “We’ll hit them in a pincer motion and trap them between our ships and the ones they’ve been fighting already. Besides, this’ll keep your friends from firing on me,” he finished, looking at Kyle. He signaled the plan to Commodore Jordan, who looked none too happy at taking orders from Queen, but couldn’t protest when the plan as Queen laid it out made sense.

Queen and Jordan began barking out orders, relayed by their first mates. Kyle sprang into action, glad to be actually _doing_ something, rather than sitting and fretting. The wind was in their favor and the _Green Arrow_ and the _Parallax_ surged forward, charging into battle almost before the pirates knew what they were about.

“Bring her about!” Queen shouted. “Aim for the _Korugar_! That’s Sinestro’s flagship!”

And with that, the battle was joined. It was chaos: Kyle counted six ships flying the Union Jack, plus the _Green Arrow_ ; between the ships that had already been stationed at Desolation, he spotted the _Warrior_ , and his heart clenched with worry. He wasn’t sure how many were flying the yellow Jolly Roger, but it was definitely more than seven. The Navy ships were stronger and better armed, though, and nothing on the sea could match the _Green Arrow_ for speed and agility. Still, as he dodged flying shrapnel and ran to carry out Queen’s orders, he feared they were outmatched.

They were hauling on the sails in an attempt to bring the ship about for a better angle when it happened. He ducked a spray of shrapnel and found himself facing the _Parallax_ , facing Connor, easy to pick out with his coloring and lack of uniform. The _Korugar_ was close enough to the _Parallax_ that the pirates were throwing lines over to it, preparing to board; close enough that firearms were in play now. Connor stood with a pistol in each hand, choosing his shots carefully and dropping a pirate with every one.

Then there was a crack, a spray of gunshot, and Connor fell, and Kyle’s world fell with him.

“ _Connor!_ ” he cried, abandoning his position and running towards the rail. He couldn’t see Connor, was at the wrong angle to see the deck of the _Parallax_. Was Connor merely wounded, or…

Kyle felt sick with panic, with fear. _No_. He’d always known he’d have to walk away from Connor – never see him again, never _kiss_ him again, when he wanted to see him every morning and every night – but not like this. Please, not like this.

A cannonball ripped through the railing beside him and Kyle instinctively flung himself out of the way, covering his head to protect it from flying wood. As he lowered his arms, he saw through the gap that a boat was being lowered from the _Korugar_.

He squinted. Five pirates were sitting in the boat, and one of them, face burned an angry red, was dressed like a captain. Kyle had heard enough descriptions of the pirate king to recognize him when he saw him.

Now, why would Sinestro be making for land during a sea battle?

Of course, the Starheart itself was probably on land.

And Sinestro – the reason Connor might even now be dead or dying – was about to seize it.

Kyle didn’t think – if he had, he probably would never have done it. He simply checked his belt to make sure the knife and pistol Queen had provided him with in preparation for the battle were still there, then climbed up on the railing and, for the second time in recent memory, dove into the sea.

He sliced through the cold water, then stroked for the surface. This was considerably different than his last impromptu swim; ships surged about him, anchored in place but still moving enough to be dangerous, and the water was littered with fragmented wood, murky with gunpowder and blood. Kyle started to stroke for the shore, only to stop when he heard a loud splash behind him.

He turned and saw Commodore Jordan surface, shaking the water out of his eyes.

“Commodore!” Kyle gasped. “What are you – ?”

“I let you die once,” Jordan said, gasping and spitting out water. “I’m not about to let it happen again. Are you hurt?”

“What? No, no, I dove on purpose,” Kyle explained. “See that boat? Sinestro’s on it. I think he’s going after the Starheart.”

Jordan glanced back towards the _Parallax_. “My men could lower a line, but I don’t like my chances climbing back up the side of the ship in the middle of a battle. Besides, I’ve been fighting the pirate king my whole career. I owe him a considerable amount of payback.” He waved at a figure watching them from the railing of the _Parallax_. “Tom can handle the rest.”

He started for the shore, but Kyle stopped him. “Commodore, I…I saw Connor fall. Is he…?”

Jordan looked worried, and grieved. “He’s badly injured. I don’t know that he’ll last the battle.”

Kyle’s jaw tightened. “I am glad to have your assistance, Commodore,” he said. “But when we encounter Sinestro, I will kill him myself.”

And he turned towards the shore.

It was a treacherous swim, and long, longer than Kyle would’ve liked. Half of him was numb with grief and fear for Connor. The other half was worrying about what lay ahead. He would kill Sinestro, Starheart or no Starheart, but he didn’t like to think about the damage Sinestro could cause with it before Kyle took him down. True, as far as Kyle knew he was the only one with the coded message that would enable him to retrieve it, but Sinestro had known enough to kidnap Kyle, which meant there was a spy in Oan Hall. Perhaps that spy had also relayed the code itself.

They finally staggered onto the beach. Kyle should have needed to rest, but cold fury pushed him on. They’d come up a bit further down the coast than the longboat had, thanks to the current; Kyle drew his pistol and walked towards the beached longboat, Jordan beside him.

It was empty, of course, but Sinestro and his men had left tracks in the sand, moving inland. Jordan and Kyle exchanged a glance, then followed the tracks up the beach. They crested a dune, and…

There was a figure in Navy dress, lying crumpled in the sand.

Kyle sprinted towards it, heart in his throat. “Kyle! Be careful! It could be a trap!” Jordan called after him, close at his heels.

As Kyle drew near the figure, he made out carrot-orange hair, dotted with blood. “Oh, no…”

He dropped to his knees. “Gardner!” Gingerly, he reached out and rolled Gardner onto his back. “Gardner, _please_ …”

Gardner’s eyelids shivered; then he groaned, and Kyle felt a surge of relief. Jordan knelt beside him. “Here,” he said, and pressed a flask into Kyle’s hand.

Kyle unscrewed it and poured brandy into Gardner’s mouth. Gardner choked and sputtered, but swallowed it, blue eyes opened a moment later and widening when they landed upon Kyle.

“Rayner?” he asked, coughing again. “You’re alive?” His eyes tracked to Jordan. “ _You_ found him?” He let out a stream of colorful invective.

“Well, it doesn’t seem to have affected his brain,” Jordan said, but he was pale with relief.

Kyle helped Gardner sit up, then gave him another sip of brandy. “Gardner, what happened?” Kyle asked. “Where’s Jenny? Is she on the _Warrior_?”

Gardner shook his head, then winced in pain. “Blasted pirates came on too quick,” he said. “Me and Stewart and the girls couldn’t get back to the ships before it started. Wargo’s leading mine.” He scrubbed the back of his sleeve across his face, wiping blood away. “Stewart sent his other ships out, then came around to get a view of the battle before he boarded. Then that bastard Sinestro came ashore. I should’ve shot him before he made the beach, but Stewart wanted to see what he was after.”

Gardner took a last swig of the brandy, then pushed the flask away. “Sinestro must be off his nut. He started demanding Stewart take him to the Starheart, of all things. Stewart wouldn’t do it, but…” He paused, looking up at Kyle. “Sinestro took Miss Scott, Kyle. Said he’d shoot her if Stewart didn’t take her to the Starheart. I tried to stop them, but…” He pointed to his head, still trickling a thin stream of blood.

Kyle felt the nebulous worry of the past three days coalesce into something hard and cold in the pit of his stomach, joining the anguish there already. _Jenny_. He knew better than to have any hopes about the pirate king’s capacity for mercy.

Jordan was looking inland. “They’ve left tracks,” he said, and Kyle could see the muddied footprints in the sand, same as the ones that had led them to Gardner.

Kyle stood up. “Commodore, can you help Captain Gardner get to the medical facility on this island?”

Jordan’s and Gardner’s answers were simultaneous and indignant.

“I’m not about to let you go off and face the pirate king and his men by yourself! _You_ take Gardner to the sick bay!” Jordan protested.

“I don’t need a bloody _doctor_ , I need a gun so I can find that red-faced weasel and blow a hole in his head!” Gardner snapped, struggling to his feet. He wobbled a little but then steadied, and his jaw was set in a familiar stubborn fashion that Kyle knew better than to argue with. And he _would_ feel more secure with two allies at his back.

“All right,” Kyle said. “But hurry.”

Since Kyle only had one pistol, Jordan, with little graciousness, handed Gardner one of his own, and they followed the footprints inland. Much to Kyle’s dismay, they soon moved onto rockier ground and it became harder and harder to track their prey, but luckily Gardner had wounded one of Sinestro’s men in their struggle and they could follow the splashes of blood upon the rocks. The rocks gave way to soft soil that took the impress of boots well, and then jungle, and they followed the trail left by broken branches and trampled undergrowth. None of them were experienced trackers, but luckily Sinestro and his men were clearly much more accustomed to moving about on a ship rather than in a jungle, and had left such a clear trail that part of Kyle wondered if they were walking into a trap.

The jungle was awfully bug-ridden, too; Kyle could hear a buzzing all around him, and kept swatting in front of his face, but he never actually saw the insects that were causing the sound. He saw Gardner and Jordan waving their hands around too, chasing away the flies.

The jungle grew thicker and thicker and richer and richer and greener and greener, and sweat rolled down Kyle’s face as he pushed through the undergrowth…and then suddenly there was no more jungle, and he stumbled in surprise into a broad clearing, with a smooth rock floor, and Sinestro the pirate king standing in the center, waiting patiently for Kyle.


	13. Chapter 13

Terry stood at the window of Captain Stewart’s office, staring out at the sea, where the battle between the British Navy ships and Sinestro’s men was raging. He ached to be out there, to fight for his country against the monsters who had slaughtered all of his friends aboard the Ion, to help his new friends on the _Mosaic_ and the other ships of Desolation. But there was no safe way to reach the ships from the shore.

Behind him, the blonde girl – Cissie, he thought the other girl had called her – was pacing the office, tense, heavy footsteps ringing out over the sound of the battle. “Are you sure there’s no way to get out there?” she asked for the hundredth time.

“Yes, I’m sure,” he snapped. “Unless you have a suggestion for reaching those ships without being dashed against a hull or shot out of the water.”

“Well, Jenny and Captain Gardner clearly found a way, because they’re not here, are they?” she shot back.

Terry had to concede that she might – _might_ – be right. After he’d sounded the alarms, Captain Stewart and Captain Gardner had dispatched the two of them as messengers, Terry knowing the island and Cissie apparently being fleeter of foot than her friend. They’d been told to report back to Captain Stewart’s office, but he was not there, and as the minutes ticked by the likelihood that he would arrive grew less and less.

Terry could have borne the weight more easily without Cissie’s company. Though she was dressed as a cabin boy and thus ranked no higher than he – and though she was a _girl_ – she was dismissive and impatient with Terry, as if he was in her way somehow.

Cissie swore, far more colorfully than Terry had ever heard a girl swear before, and wrung her hands. “What is this godforsaken island anyway?” she asked Terry, as if desperate for a distraction from their frustrating situation.

Terry shrugged. “Captain Stewart says it’s a dumping grounds for everything the Empire can’t quite figure out how to use.” Captain Stewart had wryly included himself in that assessment, but Terry did not feel like telling this girl that. “It’s of no strategic importance and has no natural resources, so no one ever comes here, and they can set things out of the way for a time. Weapons, inventions…”

“Half a world away seems like an awfully long journey for storage,” Cissie said.

“I suspect Captain Stewart has not told me everything,” Terry said. “Nor do I expect him to. I know my place.”

Cissie rolled her eyes at that. “…Wait. Did you say weapons?”

“Yes, I…” Terry stared at her. “I think we should make a trip to the armory.”

“Go!”

Terry ran to the armory, Cissie close at his heels. “Now, do none of these work? Is that why they’re here?” Cissie asked as they examined the weapons that had been pushed to the far wall, the ones that could not be used.

“No, some of them can, but…well, these cannons, for example,” Terry said, pointing to a pair of outsize cannons on wheeled platforms. “Captain Stewart showed them to me a few weeks ago. They’ve got extraordinary range, but they’re too heavy for a ship.”

He blinked, and stared at Cissie, who was slowly starting to smile. “Have you got a horse we can hitch up to these platforms?” she asked.

* * *

“Ah, Captain Rayner,” Sinestro said, his eyes flicking across the three of them before settling on Kyle, clearly the youngest. He was tall and thin, with spidery strength clear in his movements. His black and gold finery was subdued for a pirate captain, but it was the high, beetled forehead and the unusual hue of his skin that drew the eye, as well as the malice in his face. “So good of you to join us.”

[](http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v237/poisonivory2/chapter13.jpg)  
_“Ah, Captain Rayner. So good of you to join us.”_

There was a series of clicks as all three officers cocked their pistols and aimed them directly at Sinestro’s head. He held up a warning hand.

“I wouldn’t,” he said, untroubled, and looked to the side. From the trees beyond the clearing came his men, two dragging hostages. One was a black man in a British naval captain’s uniform – Captain Stewart, Kyle thought, with distant surprise. The other was…

“Jenny!” Kyle said, and stepped forward before he could stop himself. The pirate holding her tightened his arm around her throat and his grip on the pistol pressed to her temple. The buzzing of the insects was louder now, maddeningly so.

“Oh, so you know each other,” Sinestro said. “How useful. I was planning on appealing to the misguided nobility all you naval types are prone to, but this is much better. I’m sure you gentlemen see the dangers in waving those weapons around, don’t you? Miss…Jenny, is it? Might get hurt.”

Kyle bit his lip, hot with impotent fury, but there was nothing for it. He would not kill Jenny to avenge Connor. He held his hands up in surrender, then placed his pistol on the ground. Behind him, Jordan and Gardner followed suit. Jenny watched with wide eyes beneath a tumbled mop of shorn hair. She looked not frightened, but furious, which gave Kyle heart.

“Very wise of you,” Sinestro said. “Isn’t this more sociable?”

“What do you _want_ , Sinestro?” Jordan snapped.

“Hasn’t Rayner told you, Commodore? Oh, yes, I know who you are,” Sinestro said. “I want the Starheart. I thought Stewart here might know something about it, but I was wrong.” He shook his head pityingly at Captain Stewart, who appeared to be holding still less because of the pistol pointed at him and more because of the one pointed at Jenny. His nose and lip were bleeding, but his expression was still defiant. “I suppose the Lord Guardians didn’t trust you enough to tell you the secret.”

“You’re out of your mind, you gutless piece of sea trash,” Gardner spat. “The Starheart’s a myth.”

“Is that a fact?” Sinestro asked. He looked down at the smooth rock he was standing on, and everyone’s gaze followed his.

Kyle couldn’t help stepping forward to look more closely. There was an image painted – no, _seared_ – into the rock, as if it had been dyed there, or burned. It was clearly a flame, brilliantly rendered, in a green so vibrant it seemed almost to glow.

Sinestro’s hand moved to his scabbard, and Kyle flinched, but all Sinestro did was unclip his sword, still in the scabbard, so that he could rap on the stone with the reinforced metal tip. The sound rang out, clear and loud over the distant fighting from the shore.

“Hollow,” Sinestro said. “The Starheart is down there. And I will kill every English citizen on this island, starting with the girl, until Captain Rayner takes me to it.”

“Don’t do it, Kyle,” Jenny said suddenly, her voice tight with urgency and with anger. “He’ll just kill us all anyway.”

“Or we’ll wish he had,” Stewart said. “Don’t do it. The Starheart’s not for the likes of him.”

“I’m not even sure I know how to open it,” Kyle told Sinestro.

“Kyle!” Jenny protested.

“I’m not going to let him kill you!” Kyle shot back. He didn’t bother to turn around and see what Gardner and Jordan thought. Jordan would die rather than betray the Empire, he knew, and Gardner would have lunged for Sinestro’s throat ten minutes ago. But he was not Jordan, nor was he Gardner, and stalling for time was the best he could do right now. Maybe there would be a way to take Sinestro by surprise, when he opened the Starheart chamber. If he _could_ open the Starheart chamber.

He stepped onto the flame-blazed rock. It felt like this sort of thing should be conducted with more ceremony; at the same time, he felt ridiculous for engaging in even _this_ level of ceremony. Doubts plagued him; was the coded message he’d been given even capable of granting him access to the Starheart? Or what if it was, but the codebreakers had gotten it wrong, or Kyle remembered it wrong?

No. Doubting himself was not the way to save Jenny and the others. Kneeling, Kyle placed his hand flat on the sun-warmed rock, in the center of the pictogram, and spoke the words he had memorized all those months ago:

_“And I shall shed my light over dark evil, for the dark things cannot stand the light: the light of the Green Lantern.”_

For a moment nothing happened, and Kyle felt his heart sink within him. It hadn’t worked. He had gambled with his friends’ lives, and he had lost.

Then the omnipresent buzzing grew even louder, and Kyle realized that it was not from the insects in the trees but from below them. The rock beneath his hand started to vibrate and then to shake violently, and as he stumbled back in surprise the center of the rock turned and lowered and sank into the earth, revealing a spiraling stone staircase into a chamber glowing green and waiting.

“My God…” Jordan breathed.

Sinestro was smiling, a horrible expression. “Excellent.” He drew his pistol. “Why don’t you lead the way, Captain Rayner? My men will stay up here with your friends and make sure they don’t do anything…foolish.”

Kyle glanced at the others. Jordan shook his head, and Gardner looked like the pistol pointed at Kyle was the only thing keeping him from launching himself at Sinestro.

“I have to,” Kyle said helplessly. “I’m sorry.”

This was better, though. Alone in the chamber, Sinestro couldn’t give the signal to his men to take out Kyle’s friends. Maybe Kyle could get the drop on him, kill him before he got the Starheart.

If Sinestro didn’t shoot him first. If the Starheart didn’t melt the flesh from their bones.

Kyle took a deep breath, and descended into the chamber.


	14. Chapter 14

The humming was so loud on the stone stairs that Sinestro had to shout to make himself heard. “I do hope you’re not planning on doing anything heroic, Captain,” he said. “Lieutenant Nero says you’re something of a poet, but don’t think you can sacrifice yourself nobly here.”

Kyle bit his lip. So Nero was the spy. Somehow he wasn’t surprised.

Sinestro went on. “I’m keeping you alive in case I need you to recite your little magic words again, but I am quite capable of causing you extraordinary amounts of pain without killing you.”

Kyle wasn’t worried about pain, but about gaining the upper hand in a struggle; unlikely, on a spiraling staircase with no railings, with Sinestro above and behind him. But Sinestro didn’t need to know that.

As they followed the curve of the staircase, they found themselves in a small cavern; larger than Kyle would have thought the bedrock of the island could support, but certainly not anything grand. It was hewn roughly from the rock; no frills, no ornamentation whatsoever. Surprising, Kyle thought, for something so legendary, so fearsome. The only indication that the chamber held anything out of the ordinary was the fact that it was suffused with soft green light.

As his boot touched the floor, the buzzing stopped.

It stood on a rough stone dais in the center of the cavern. It was not a flame, or a lantern, or even a gem. It was a rock, uneven and jagged, no bigger than the diameter of Kyle’s circled arms, and even the green of it was no more remarkable than the green of the sea, of a wood in spring, of Connor’s eyes.

But there was no mistaking it for anything but the Starheart.

“At last,” Sinestro breathed behind him, and then he was shouldering Kyle aside and running forward and reaching for the Starheart. “The world is mine!” he cried, and holstered his pistol in order to seize the Starheart with both hands.

“No!” Kyle said, running for the dais, but it was too late – Sinestro’s palms pressed against the Starheart, and the rock blazed out, a green light so brilliant Kyle had to shield his eyes.

When he looked up again, Sinestro was glowing green, and the ground was trembling. “I…I can feel _everything_ ,” he said, sounding astonished. “I can _do_ anything.” His glance fell on Kyle. “I think I’ll start with killing you.”

* * *

The ground lurched, and the pirate holding Jenny faltered. She didn’t think, just slammed her head back into his face, and heard the crunch of bone as her skull smashed into his nose.

Before he could recover himself, she grabbed his right hand, the one holding the gun, and dug her fingernails into it, prying his hand open. She stomped down on his instep at the same time, and he yelled, loosening his hand enough for her to grab the gun. Whirling, she aimed it between his eyes.

Captain Stewart took advantage of his own captor’s surprise to duck away from the pistol pointed at his head and elbow the pirate in the throat. Captain Gardner went for the nearest pirate with his knife, while Commodore Jordan threw himself towards his discarded pistol, rolled, and shot the fourth pirate. He dropped.

Jordan turned and shot Stewart’s pirate, Gardner’s pirate fell, and just like that all the pirates but Jenny’s were dead and they were free.

“Miss Scott!” said Commodore Jordan, gobsmacked.

Captain Gardner nodded at her. “Nice work, Scott. But next time, shoot the bastard, would you?”

Jenny wasn’t sure she could do that, but it wasn’t worth arguing about now. “I’m going down there to help Kyle,” she said. “You figure out what to do with that.” She gestured with the gun at the one pirate left alive, then ran for the stairs.

* * *

Sinestro stretched out one hand, keeping the other pressed to the Starheart. Kyle flung himself to the side just as a beam of green light went shooting past his head, blasting out a chunk of the rock wall behind him.

He drew his knife, but he wasn’t at all sure that it would have any effect on a man imbued with the power of the Starheart. Sinestro sent another blast towards him, and he dodged again, feeling the heat of it as it passed by.

He couldn’t keep this up indefinitely. He was sure that the only reason he hadn’t already been killed was that Sinestro seemed to be having difficulty harnessing the Starheart’s power. The nimbus of light around him was flickering wildly, and sweat was rolling down his brow, which was furrowed in deep concentration.

“Stand still, blast you! I can’t…” Sinestro jerked violently, and clapped his other hand to the stone.

Kyle didn’t think, didn’t stop to wonder if this would work. He just ran forward and pressed his own hands to the Starheart.

It was instantaneous, the feeling of being flooded with power – bright, unquenchable power that would surely drown or devour him in short order if he couldn’t get it under control. He struggled to contain it, to pull it into his veins, to force it into a manageable shape, but his mind was ablaze, jangling with sensation, with the twitch of every leaf in the jungle above and the beat of every insect’s wing and the throbbing pulse of the sea.

Somewhere in there he could feel Sinestro’s mind, pushing at him, trying to wrest the power away from him, but he could not respond. It was all he could do to keep his hands pressed to the stone. As long as Sinestro was fighting him, he wasn’t taking on the world.

“Kyle!”

Kyle turned. Jenny was running down the steps, running across the chamber to him, Jordan and Gardner and Stewart close behind her.

Jenny came to a stop just out of reach of Kyle and Sinestro, eyes darting back and forth between them. “Kyle, what should I…how should…”

“Can’t…I can’t…” Kyle gritted his teeth. “It’s too much. I have to…have to stop him from…”

Jenny frowned, then set her jaw determinedly and placed her own hands on the Starheart. “No!” Kyle tried to say, but she had already done it, and the power flared up inside of her, too, bathing her in verdant light.

Kyle felt the immense pressure surrounding him lessen, just a little.

“Get away!” Sinestro screamed. “It’s mine!” The light surrounding all three of them flared up so bright Kyle had to shut his eyes as Sinestro tried to push them away with his mind, and Kyle and Jenny squared their shoulders and stood their ground.

The pressure lessened again, and Kyle opened his eyes to see Stewart standing across from him, hands on the Starheart. “I’ve spent the past ten years of my life protecting the Starheart from scum like him,” Stewart said, the strain clearly visible on his face. “I’m not going to let him take it now.”

“Aw, hell,” Gardner said, and shouldered his way in between Kyle and Sinestro to touch the Starheart, too. Jordan was only half a step behind, and now the blazing green power was manageable, was something Kyle could get his mind around and see.

“No, damn you!” Sinestro screamed, and suddenly something changed, something twisted, and Sinestro’s face lit up with malevolent joy as the flow of energy through the Starheart changed. Power started funneling out of Kyle and his companions, through the rock and into Sinestro. The light around Kyle’s friends dimmed and blackened, and Kyle gasped for air, unable to pull his hands or his mind away from the Starheart.

[](http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v237/poisonivory2/chapter14.jpg)  
_...something changed, something twisted, and Sinestro’s face lit up with malevolent joy..._

“No…” he wheezed. “You can’t…it’s too much…you’ll…”

Sinestro just laughed, a laugh that grew louder and louder and more and more ragged and desperate. The Starheart shook in their grasp, and Sinestro’s eyes widened in alarm as he tried to pull away, but he couldn’t, couldn’t stop the flow of power. The ground trembled, and the Starheart blazed, and Sinestro’s laughter ended in a scream and the stench of scorched flesh as his eyes rolled back and he crumpled to the ground.

Kyle had no time to wonder if Sinestro was alive or dead. His life was still streaming out of him, into the Starheart, into the void. Gardner’s breathing beside him was ragged; Jenny’s face was ashen. Kyle bit his lip until it bled, dug in the heels of his mind, and _held_.

_Kyle Rayner._

It wasn’t a voice, precisely. It wasn’t _anything_ , and yet it was everything, speaking directly to his mind.

_Kyle Rayner. What would you do with the Light of the World?_

Kyle’s mind raced. He could use Starheart to obliterate the pirates outside, to torch their ships and send their souls screaming to Davy Jones. He could carry it in triumph to England, to Oan Hall, to Buckingham Palace. He could be the greatest captain in Her Majesty’s Royal Navy; commodore; admiral.

Prime minister.

King.

No one would ever dare call him Paddy again. No one would insult his mother, or his father’s memory; no one would question his right to lead. No one would question him at all. His power, with the Starheart in his hands, would be absolute.

“I would save my friends,” Kyle said softly. “I would end this battle. And I would close the rock above and leave the Starheart at rest.”

There was a pause. Then:

_Save your friends, then, Kyle Rayner._

Power flowed into Kyle again, but this time it was painless; this time it was glorious. He could feel the other four connected to the Starheart, the blaze of each of their souls: Stewart a steady, reliable glow like a hearth; Gardner crackling and restless, a forest fire; Jenny bright and cheerful and pure, a candle in the dark; and Jordan the proud, defiant beacon of a lighthouse. He wondered what his own fire looked like.

He stretched out the span of his feeling until he could perceive the world beyond the Starheart chamber. The bedrock of Desolation was still shaking, and Kyle stilled it with a thought. There were four pirates lying by the entrance to the chamber, three dead, one knocked unconscious by the butt of someone’s pistol; he raised cairns over the dead ones before passing through the jungle, replacing trees that had been ripped from their moorings by the quakes, hearing the panicked birds quiet in his wake.

Over the beach, and – Kyle felt a pulse of quiet joy – there was Terry, somehow alive, and a girl, sooty and bruised as they loaded an enormous cannon that, from the foundering of some of Sinestro’s ships, had already done a fair amount of damage. “No,” he said, and their powder was scattered over the sand, unusable. They looked shocked and dismayed at the invisible force that had just rendered their weapon useless, but they would not need it in a minute.

Kyle passed over the ocean, feeling the salt and the surge of it in his bones. With another whisper of power he stilled the battle on the ships. No one had boarded yet, so he was free to cut the lines and breathe gently into the sails of the pirate ships, blowing them out to sea. As he did, their weapons twinkled into starlight and vanished.

“No more,” he said, and made sure they could hear him. “Sinestro is no longer your master. Find an honest trade.”

Some of the pirates nodded frantically, some dropped to their knees and prayed, but none seemed inclined to fight the voiceless force that had taken their weapons and was sweeping them over the horizon. Kyle knew he could reach into their minds and _force_ them to change their ways, but he didn’t want to. That seemed too much like something Sinestro might have done, albeit for different reasons.

Kyle returned his to the naval ships, searching for the sharp, jangled feeling of major injuries, like discordant notes in a familiar song. One sailor was missing a leg; Kyle replaced it. Another had a spar of wood as thick around as Kyle’s fist jutting from his stomach, sharp shrapnel; Kyle removed it and healed the wound.

Queen, on the quarterdeck of the _Green Arrow_ , was missing fingers from his left hand, and Kyle replaced them, biting back a laugh at the look on Queen’s face. Harper’s right arm hung uselessly at his side until Kyle swept his power over it. Mia appeared to have escaped serious injury. And Connor…

Even with the vast power at his command and the peace it brought, Kyle felt a rush of panic, of anguish, when he saw Connor lying on the deck of the _Parallax_ , pale and bloodied, tucked as far out of the way as possible for there had been no time during the battle to bring him belowdecks. His life force was faint, flickering, and Kyle had to pause and steady himself before he touched Connor, removing the grapeshot from his brain and repairing the damage, sealing the bone, healing the ugly wound in his scalp. He took the faint ember of Connor’s life and blew on it, coaxing it, and it fanned up again, steady and bright.

Kyle realized he was trembling.

He passed through the rest of the ships, healing the wounded, repairing the hulls, making them seaworthy. And then it was done, and Kyle took a moment to stretch his awareness as far as he could. He could feel the heat of the earth and the cool of the ocean; he could feel Jenny and Gardner and Jordan and Harper and all the other souls on Desolation. He could hear his mother’s voice, back home in England, and he could count the pale lashes of Connor’s closed eyes.

He could hear the singing of the stars.

Kyle locked the feeling away, saving it in his memory for always, and then he let the power go.

“I thank you, Starheart,” he said, hands still on the rock, though he was mortal again.

_You are welcome, Kyle Rayner._

There was one last flare of green, and then they were free, all five of them, staggering back from the Starheart, the others looking at Kyle in amazement. “We’d best get out of here before the chamber closes,” Kyle said before they could ask him any questions, and took Jenny’s hand, tugging her towards the stairs.

Dumbfounded, the others followed. No sooner had Jordan, bringing up the rear, stepped of the stair than the ground shook again and the Starheart chamber closed, a smooth, unassailable rock once more.

“We left Sinestro down there!” Jenny said, reaching for the rock as if she could open it again. Kyle doubted any of them remembered the words exactly. Even he could barely remember them, somehow…

“He was dead,” Kyle said. “I…thank you. For helping me. All of you.” He squeezed Jenny’s hand, looked at the others, tried to convey his gratitude. “You saved my life.”

“I think you saved a lot more than that,” Jordan said, and put a hand on Kyle’s shoulder. “Let’s go back to the beach and see if they need help. Then you can tell us…no, actually, I don’t think you had better.”

Kyle nodded, and they walked back to the beach.


	15. Chapter 15

Kyle had repaired the major damage done to the ships, but there were still minor repairs to be done, stores to be replaced, details the captains and first mates were more equipped to handle than Kyle had been, even a Kyle imbued with vast, otherworldly power. It took some days. The _Green Arrow_ , the _Parallax_ , and the _Warrior_ took precedence in the repairs, with Captain Stewart’s men chipping in to assist with a fairly good will, though there was clearly tension between the crew of the _Green Arrow_ and the assorted British sailors. It didn’t take a genius to see that Ollie wanted to be gone as soon as possible.

But before he set sail, Hal needed to talk to him.

He found him at dinner. All meals were held on the beach for ease of coordination, the cooks of each ship pooling their knowledge and resources over vast campfires. It left them alternating between mostly-bland porridge and mostly-bland stew, but Hal had eaten far worse in his career.

The _Green Arrow_ had been declared fit for seafaring late that afternoon, and Ollie would be sailing first thing the next morning. Hal found him laughing with Roy and his bespectacled navigator – a laugh that quickly died when Hal approached them.

“Hello, _Commodore_.”

“Hello, Captain,” Hal said. “May I speak with you?”

Ollie gave him a long look, then shrugged and put down his bowl of mostly-bland stew. He followed Hal down the beach, out of earshot of the men. There was something painfully familiar about just walking with Ollie, as he’d done so many times before in their youth, marred only by the heavy and awkward silence between them. Neither Hal nor Ollie was a quiet man by nature.

“Roy seems to have become a very capable mate,” Hal said finally, choosing what seemed like a safe topic. “I suppose I was expecting him to still be ten years old. I certainly wasn’t expecting him to be taller than either of us.”

Ollie gave a short laugh. “I’m never expecting it. I’m surprised every time I see him.”

“Connor, too, seems to be a fine…a fine sailor,” Hal said tentatively. “He was very, um. Polite. When he was aboard the _Parallax_. And my men say he fought bravely against Sinestro’s pirates.”

Ollie nodded, as if the compliment was to be expected, but Hal could tell that he was pleased. “He’s a better fighter than I am,” he said. “And certainly more polite.” Hal snorted a little. “Your…uh, your protégé. Rayner. He’s a good man.”

It was Hal’s turn to nod. “They all are. The young ladies seem to be quite extraordinary, too.” He hadn’t spoken much with Ollie’s cabin girl, or Miss Scott’s friend, but they both seemed to be quick-witted and capable, and Miss Scott had quite frankly astonished Hal with her resourcefulness and courage. He paused. “Perhaps the younger generation will be wiser than their predecessors.”

Ollie didn’t respond for a long moment. “I suppose I have not always confined my attacks to those who truly deserve it,” he said finally.

“I suppose I have not always spoken out to against actions on the part of the Crown that I felt were wrong,” Hal replied.

He knew Ollie better than to accept any greater concession, and Ollie knew him.

“Will you report Rayner for not delivering the Starheart to his masters?” Ollie asked.

Obedience to the Lord Guardians was a practiced reflex to Hal by now, but his decision was not a difficult one. “The Lord Guardians were aware that the message they provided Captain Rayner with might not be the one that would grant him access to the Starheart. It is regrettable but unsurprising that he was unable to open the Chamber. Captains Gardner and Stewart share my regret.” Hal glanced sidelong at Ollie. “Perhaps it is for the best. I am not certain that it is right for one man, or even one nation, to possess an item of such power.”

Ollie’s mustache quivered, a suggestion of a smile. “You may be right,” he said.

“Shall we return to the fire?” Hal asked, nodding back in the direction of their crews.

Ollie stopped and looked back for a minute. “I think that lot can get along without us for now,” he said. “It’s early yet.”

“That it is,” Hal said, and they walked on together.

* * *

Jenny slipped away from the crowd by the fire on the beach, and into the jungle. There was a spring there that provided the fresh water for their makeshift camps, and she preferred the fresh water of it to rum; more than that, though, she was troubled and needed space to think. She had accomplished her goal of retrieving her fiancé, yes – but now that the marriage was back on track, she felt again the creeping fear of it, the feel of being suffocated by her unavoidable future.

Being surrounded by foliage after months aboard a ship soothed her. She could think more clear here, surrounded by green. She sipped a few handfuls of water, then stepped further into the jungle, drinking in the feel of things growing.

Footsteps through the brush startled her. Rather than risk being caught and giving up her quiet moment with the plants, she ducked behind a tree.

It was Captain Queen. Jenny hadn’t spoken to him herself, though she got on well with his delightfully foul-mouthed cabin girl Mia, and with both of his sons, though Mr. Hawke seemed either dreadfully shy or somewhat standoffish in her presence. Kyle had explained what had happened to him since the sinking of the _Ion_ , and Jenny’s need for revenge had vanished; it hadn’t really been Captain Queen’s fault. Still, she had nothing in particular to say to Queen, so she stayed hidden as he knelt to drink from the spring.

Soft footsteps behind him made him straighten his back, his fingers drifting to the butt of his holstered pistol. “If you’re planning on making a habit of sneaking up on people, I suggest you don’t try it on those who have lived with the natives of the Americas – at least not until you master their art of walking _silently_ through the woods.”

“I don’t want to sneak up on you,” Cissie said, and stepped into view – Queen’s and Jenny’s. “I want to talk to you.”

“Oh?” Captain Queen looked over his shoulder at her, then stood and turned to face her. “About what?”

Cissie lifted her chin. “Do you know me?”

“I think that’s unlikely.” Captain Queen squinted at her. “Although…you do look famil…you…” Recognition dawned. “Bonnie’s girl?”

Cissie nodded.

“How old are you?” Queen asked, in a voice that suggested that he already knew the answer.

“Fifteen,” Cissie replied.

“Well.” Queen moved as if to take a step towards Cissie, then moved back, brought an uncertain hand to his hair, and finally just stayed in place, looking so completely at a loss Jenny would have laughed, if she hadn’t been hiding, and if the moment hadn’t been so serious. “You’ve got my nose.”

“I suspected I would,” Cissie replied.

“I didn’t know,” Queen said, a little helplessly.

“You didn’t try to find out, either,” Cissie said. “Not that it mattered. Her good name would have been ruined even without a baby.”

Queen nodded as if it pained him. “How is she? Does…does she need anything?”

Cissie laughed, a cheerless sound. “Oh, she’s fine. Bonnie Jones has always been able to take care of herself. She’s run a dancing school, ever since my father…well, ever since her husband died when I was a baby. It’s not the life of a gentleman’s wife, and she’s been missing her chief instructor for some months – ” she indicated herself “ – but she does all right.”

Queen rubbed at his beard. “Do you… _like_ being a dancing instructor?”

Cissie’s laugh was scathing now. “I suppose you want to know my favorite color and dreams for the future and all those other things fathers know, don’t you?”

“Yes,” Queen said seriously. “But we might do best to start with your name.”

“…Cecily,” Cissie said, after a quiet pause.

“Cecily.” Queen sat down beside the creek, and after a moment, Cissie sat down too. “I did love your mother, you know. I would have married her, and gladly. But I made…the choices I made because I could not fight for the Empire any longer, and…you know, I did return to England some months after. You would have been just born, I suppose. And I wanted to see her, but…” He sighed and looked at his hands. “What could I offer her? Marriage to a traitor and a criminal? A life of danger? I thought it best left where it was.”

Jenny expected a snide remark, but Cissie was silent.

“I didn’t…have you met Connor?” Queen asked, and Cissie nodded. “I didn’t know about him either, not until a few years ago, and I thought, my God, the things I’ve missed. I have a son, and I never saw him take his first steps. Never held him when he was still small enough to hold. I never wanted to feel like that again, but…” He looked at Cissie. “I suppose it’s no one’s fault but my own.”

Cissie didn’t say anything for a moment. When she spoke, her voice was so soft Jenny had to strain to hear. “My favorite color is red, I _hate_ being a dancing instructor, and I don’t have any dreams for the future beyond getting out of London for good.”

“Do you…I mean, I suppose I can always use another cabin girl,” Queen suggested.

Cissie shook her head. “No, thank you. I haven’t decided yet if I still hate you, and I wouldn’t like to come to that conclusion once in your crew and leagues from home.”

Queen laughed. Cissie looked startled, then gave him a faint smile.

“Eminently fair,” Queen said. He rubbed his beard again. “I do know a lady who’s been looking for an apprentice. If it’s adventure you’re after…well, I could write to her for you, if you’d like.”

“And she would find me in England?” Cissie asked.

“The Black Lady can find anyone,” Ollie replied. He stood up and offered a hand to Cissie. “But in the meantime, if it’s all right, I’d like to formally introduce you to your brother.”

Cissie stared at the hand held out before her for a minute before taking it. “Thank you,” she said.

Jenny stayed there for another moment, waiting until they got clear of the wood. She couldn’t help smiling faintly. She didn’t know what Cissie would do – whether she intended to go into service with the Black Lady or change her mind at some point and join the crew of the _Green Arrow_ – but she’d confronted her father, she’d said her piece, and that could only be a good thing.

It was probably a strategy Jenny should follow.

She emerged from the jungle and looked around for Kyle. He was ostensibly talking to Captain Stewart, but his eyes were scanning the crowd on the beach, and lit upon Jenny triumphantly. Reading her unspoken message, he excused himself from his conversation and walked to meet her.

There was a stoved-in barrel abandoned in the sand, just out of earshot of the ground around the campfires, and they walked over to it so they could talk. It was strange not to have to arrange for a chaperone that they could then avoid, but liberating, too.

“Thank you for coming in search of me,” Kyle said finally.

“You would have done the same for me,” Jenny replied. Kyle nodded, and they fell silent again.

It was comfortable, sitting with Kyle, familiar and safe. Jenny liked being with him, even though they weren’t talking. But he didn’t pick up her hand to trace the star on her palm, and he didn’t push her unruly short hair out of her eyes, and he didn’t try to kiss her.

Nor, Jenny realized, did she want him to.

“Jenny…” he said, at the same time that she said “Kyle…” They laughed, a little awkwardly, and he gestured for her to go ahead. “Please.”

Jenny took a deep breath. “I came looking for you because I care for you and I was worried about you,” she said. “But also because I…felt guilty.”

A shadow crossed Kyle’s face. “Guilty?”

“Yes. I…there was a part of me that didn’t…Kyle, you are my dearest friend,” Jenny said, stumbling for a way to express what she felt that wouldn’t hurt him too badly. “But…when we spoke, in the garden, there…I wasn’t completely _sure_ that I wanted to marry you.”

“Oh,” said Kyle, his face unreadable.

Jenny plowed on. “And now that I have seen something of the world, after…after everything that’s happened…Kyle, I’m sorry, but I’m sure that I _don’t_ want to marry you.” She toyed with her cuff, unable to look at him. “It is no reflection on you, I assure you. I think we could be…content, together. But I’ve learned that the world is wide, and there is…there is space in it for more than contentment.”

She looked back up at him. “Please don’t be angry,” she started to say, and then stopped, because Kyle didn’t look angry in the slightest. As a matter of fact, he looked…relieved.

“I’m so glad I let you go first,” he said, and now he took her hand. “Jenny, I don’t want to marry you either.”

Jenny blinked at him.

“Not because I don’t care for you!” Kyle said hastily. “You are…I feel everything that you said. I care for you deeply, and I think you are right. We could be content together. But I don’t think I would be satisfied with mere contentment, and I don’t want you to be. And there is…that is, I’ve found that I…” He paused, then smiled, a little crookedly. “Well, that’s another matter. Let’s just say that I suppose it’s a good thing that I was kidnapped by pirates before I could speak to your father.”

Jenny couldn’t help laughing. She felt overwhelmingly relieved. “God bless pirates.”

“Indeed,” Kyle said. He leaned in and kissed her on the cheek. “I do love you, you know.”

“And I you.” Jenny stood and offered a hand, and Kyle let her help him up. “You do know Todd is going to laugh at us for this?”

“Todd laughs at me regardless,” Kyle replied. “At least he will be forced to do it at a distance now.”

Jenny was about to ask what he meant by that when she caught a glimpse of Mr. Hawke, back at the campfire. He turned away in that sudden fashion that meant he had been watching them, and though she had only met him a few days earlier, she could not mistake the melancholy in the set of his shoulders.

Probably missing the sea, Jenny thought. With an admiral as a father, she knew well the gloom that set in when a seafaring man stayed too long on shore.

Well, he would be sailing tomorrow morning, and his melancholy would most likely pass then. Jenny hoped so. She was filled with a sudden sense of good will towards the whole world, even pirates. She had no idea what would happen to her the next day, or the next year – and that was a remarkably liberating feeling. With luck, Mr. Hawke would be as happy as she was tomorrow.

* * *

Having planned to sail with first light, Captain Queen had had his crew sleep aboard the _Green Arrow_ that last night on Desolation. As the first pale light of dawn crept over the horizon, he awoke, dressed, and headed up to the deck, to steal a quiet moment with his ship before Roy woke and, in turn, roused the crew.

He found Kyle sitting on the deck, damp from his swim out to the ship and flushed with exertion from having climbed the side with the help of the rope that lay coiled next to him.

For a full minute he just blinked at him in surprise. Kyle did his best to hide a grin.

“I believe you’re on the wrong ship, Admiral,” Queen said finally. “Shouldn’t you be aboard the _Parallax_? Or the _Warrior_?”

“I did consider it,” Kyle replied. “But I’ve disobeyed a direct order from the Lord Guardians. I doubt they’ll want me in their service now.”

“Hal would cover for you,” Queen pointed out. “He told me as much. Gardner too, I’m sure.”

“True enough,” Kyle agreed. “But what kind of man would I be if I made liars out of my friends?” He stood up, shaking wet hair out of his eyes. “Besides, I don’t think Mia can keep up with all the potato-peeling and deck-swabbing that needs to be done on this ship. She’ll need help.”

Queen scrutinized him. Kyle stayed silent, waiting, trying to pretend his heart wasn’t pounding. He’d made one mistake in his brilliant plan to join the crew of the _Green Arrow_ , and positioned himself facing east. With the rising sun in his eyes, he couldn’t read Queen’s expression.

Kyle had thought it through – had done little else after relinquishing the Starheart, in fact. He knew his betrayal of the Lord Guardians, if it could be called that, could be covered up; Kyle’s original mission, or Stewart’s true purpose as the Starheart’s guard, for that matter, was not widely known among the various crews. The common sailors would attribute the miraculous end of the battle to Providence, and those who had been joined via the Light of the World would not correct them. The Lord Guardians would accept that Kyle had not been able to open the Starheart chamber. He would not be penalized. In fact, he would probably be rewarded, along with Commodore Jordan and Captains Gardner and Stewart, for defeating the pirate king and rescuing Admiral Scott’s daughter.

And then what?

He was still El Capitan Paddy, after all. And now he was an El Capitan Paddy who’d seen another point of view. Would the Lord Guardians find it easier to chain him to a desk, like Admiral Scott, or to place him somewhere arguably important but conveniently out of the way, like Captain Stewart? He did not have the family – or, to be honest, the energy – to fight Lord Guardians every step of the way the way Gardner did. And he didn’t think he could play the game of politics the way Commodore Jordan did. He lacked the ability to be exactly what the Crown and the Lord Guardians wanted to be, and, thanks to his recent adventures, he’d lost the inclination as well.

He wanted three things in life, he’d realized. He wanted to sail, and he wanted to do some good for the world. Both were possible aboard the _Green Arrow_ , provided Queen had someone like Kyle keeping him honest.

The third thing was on this ship too, but that would not be decided by Captain Queen.

“And I supposed I’ll be thought a kidnapper and chased halfway around the world again?” Queen asked. Kyle couldn’t tell if he sounded amused or annoyed at the prospect.

“I’ve left letters for Commodore Jordan and Captain Gardner,” Kyle said. “They’ll know I’m here of my own free will.”

The letters had been more articulate than Kyle knew he would ever be face to face. He’d thanked Jordan for being his first and best teacher; he’d thanked Gardner for being his brother. The second letter had a third enclosed, addressed to his mother. Parting from Jordan and Gardner, from Jenny and his mother and everyone else he loved back home, was difficult, but he might not have seen them very often in the Lord Guardians’ service anyway, and he knew that the _Green Arrow_ snuck back to England every few years.

“You’re only here to help Mia, then?” Queen said, folding his arms. “No one else on board is swaying your decision?”

Oliver Queen was no fool.

“I do have…particular friends on the _Green Arrow_ ,” Kyle said. “I should be glad to be close to them.”

He waited. Queen gave him another hard look.

“You won’t be taking my quarters again,” he said finally, and Kyle couldn’t hide his smile.

“I wouldn’t dream of it, Captain.”

Queen shook his head, long-suffering, but he gave Kyle a thump on the shoulder as he passed that was somewhere between fatherly and a warning. “Welcome aboard, Admiral,” he said.

He headed for the hold, just as the door opened and Connor came out. “Someone here to see you,” Queen said, and edged past him onto the stairs.

Connor frowned in confusion, then saw Kyle. His eyes grew wide, but no less confused. “Captain Rayner?”

“I thought you were calling me Kyle,” Kyle said. “Besides, I’m not a captain anymore. Just a lowly crewmember of the _Green Arrow_. Until your father inevitably gets fed up and throws me overboard, at least.”

Connor walked hesitantly toward him. “But what about your friends? Your family?”

“I’ve written them letters,” Kyle said. “They’ll understand.” Connor seemed more confused than pleased, and Kyle started to worry that he’d misjudged things, that what he felt for Connor was some kind of strange aberration that Connor didn’t share in the least.

“What about your…fiancée?” Connor asked, and there was a breath of hesitation before he said the word that reassured Kyle.

“We had a talk,” Kyle said. “We’ll always be friends, but we agreed that…that marriage was not the right course for us.” He smiled. “Personally, I think she’s well rid of me.”

“Indeed?” Connor asked. He was close enough to touch now. “Are you very troublesome?”

“Exceedingly,” Kyle assured him.

And Connor was often inscrutable, but there was no mistaking the expression on his face. “I can handle trouble,” he had just enough time to say before Kyle kissed him.

[](http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v237/poisonivory2/chapter15.jpg)  
_"I can handle trouble."_

Connor kissed him back, fierce and happy, strong hands gripping Kyle’s arms and pulling him close. Kyle breathed in his familiar scent, felt Connor’s heart race against his, and knew he was home.

Then Harper shouted from below, waking the crew, and Kyle and Connor sprang apart, looking at each other with flushed faces and laughs that kept threatening to bubble over.

“This is going to be complicated,” Kyle pointed out.

“I can handle complicated, too,” Connor said, as the crew came spilling out of the hold.

The deck was instantly a hive of activity, Queen and Harper barking out orders, Harper looking entirely unsurprised to see Kyle there. Kyle joined the gang reeling in the anchor chain, bending to it with a will, and as the verdant sails were unfurled, the wind filled them and carried the _Green Arrow_ away from Desolation, away from the life Kyle knew and towards something else entirely. He met Connor’s eyes as Connor joined Fyers and Queen on the quarterdeck, and when Connor smiled at him he knew how the _Green Arrow_ felt when the wind filled her sails and she went flying over the waves, turned to green glass by the rising sun.

It was morning, and all the world lay before them.


End file.
